


The Devil & the Charlatan

by reiseliza



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Canon Universe, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:48:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10690038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiseliza/pseuds/reiseliza
Summary: When Sara boarded the Hyperion, she didn't know what she'd find in Andromeda.  As she struggles to deal with her own past, the death of her father, being the Pathfinder, and fighting off the kett, Sara Ryder never expected to find love.  And love is the most complicated of them all, especially when the one you love isn't the devil you know.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first attempt at a #Reyder fanfic. Note that I do not claim ownership of these characters or the canonical parts of their stories (Thank you, Bioware!), though my goal is to flesh out the content (pre-Andromeda, in-game, and post-Settling Kadara) that we get with these two. I'm happy for input, and might be looking for beta readers--if you're interested, let me know!
> 
> The chapters will focus on Sara and Reyes, together and separately. Enjoy!

Reyes had trouble sleeping at night. Falling asleep, staying asleep, it all evaded him. So, as any aspiring smuggler might do, he began using those lingering late hours for other things, calling it “business.” A rather successful set of ventures, even by his own standards. And with Kadara Port expanding so quickly and the sudden backlash from the Initiative, he’d become very busy, indeed.  So busy that he’d begun missing daylight hours altogether with the exception of sunrise--an excellent opportunity to close on the last of many drinks that day. After all, important things only happened on Kadara after dark.

It was beautiful in its own way, the port: the way the neon lights hummed through the midnight. The Slums, too. He’d come to think of it as his home during his short time there, as much as any one place could ever be, and one he could shape with his own two hands. Where he could make something of himself the only way he knew how.    
  
_As much as you can from behind closed doors_ , he thought to himself, frowning at the glass in his hand. The sun had risen too many hours ago, and he was stuck in the same chair he’d fallen into the second he walked through the door. The business of pulling strings could be incredibly exhausting, but he loved the symphony it created--how incredibly clever it made him feel.  It wasn’t his practice to get his hands dirty; he was always at his best behind the scenes. But judging by the long shadow cast across his apartment floor and the empty bottles next to him, it was time for a change of pace.  
  
_Sara Ryder._  Her name rolled pleasantly off the tongue. He smiled absently as he tried to recall if he’d ever known any girls with that name before and if he’d slept with them. His mind lazily worked the trail over, vaguely searching for faces to match with a name, but the novelty quickly wore away. With that, he finished his drink in one, final gulp before resigning himself to the task at hand. And to get anywhere, he was going to need to make himself _presentable._   
  
When his datapad blinked with the notification that her ship had docked, he rushed for the shower, wondering where the time had gone. _It wouldn’t hurt to make her wait. At least, not a little bit,_ he smiled to himself.    
  
As the hot water washed over his shoulders, he raked a hand through his hair, concentrating on what he knew about this Pathfinder. By the time he’d lathered up a bar of soap, he’d worked through it all twice and felt decidedly confident--she was inexperienced, vulnerable, and impulsive.  If he could just manage to pit her against the leader of the Outcasts--this was the kind of work he lived for, and the only thing he loved more than a big payout was the chase, he thought wistfully with a splash of aftershave, settling into his field armor.  It wasn’t everyday that he had his work this cut out for him, but then, the complicated jobs always were more fun.   
  
Another message flashed across his datapad’s lock screen, “The target is in position. She’s getting antsy.”  Followed by another, quickly, as he combed his hair one last time before heading for the door,  “Are you even on your way, yet?”  
  
“Yes, yes,” he replied, his fingers ghosting over the keypad.  “Be there in five.”  
  
He could almost feel the onslaught of harassment light up his screen, not that it bothered him.  He was always fashionably late. _A character trait_ , he reasoned silently as he slipped around corners and through back alleyways to Kralla’s Song. _It should be expected at this point._ __  
  
He snuck into Kralla’s Song, just a little too obviously and smiled at the audacity of just walking through the front door: visibility wasn’t a luxury he was often afforded. Heads turned, even from the bar downstairs, and Reyes gauged their reactions, trying his best to seem oblivious--with watchful eyes glued to him, mouths moving at light speed, he knew he’d set the stage perfectly. Oh, they’ll be talking about this later, he thought contently, cozying up to the railing overlooking the bar.  For his plan to work, he needed them to. 

Then he saw her, and his chest tightened almost instantly. He immediately pushed the feeling away, but that didn't stop him from painting a pretty mental picture of his target. For posterity, of course.  
  
Even in armor--especially in armor, he corrected himself--he could find things to admire.  He made specifics notes about her thick, bleached blonde hair, the way it curled just at the ends, and then the curve of her hips, her waist, and those big, dark eyes--he readily cleared his throat, nearly forgetting himself. He hadn’t prepared for her to be attractive, but it certainly didn’t dampen his excitement.

He watched carefully as she pursed her lips. Frustration wore at her shoulders, as she tried to ignore the fight unfolding behind her more with each anxious tap of her boot against the barroom floor. Reyes traced a forced sigh down the length of her body as the bartender began issuing violent threats to a nearby krogan: a sign that he’d made her wait long enough. “Show time,” he whispered with a special enthusiasm--it was a good day to be alive.  
  
Gliding down the stairs, he nodded at the bartender--Umi, one of his favorites. She slammed down two looming shots with a growl as he passed, returning a knowing glance. With both drinks in hand, he slid in behind his target, just close enough to smell her perfume, and when she turned to look back, a million dollar smile blazed across his face.  
  
“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”


	2. Chapter 2

Pioneering Andromeda’s frontier was exciting, but it wasn’t necessarily Sara’s idea of a good time. Before joining the Initiative, and rather abruptly at that, she enjoyed searching for Prothean relics and every new place that research led her. Making discoveries and filling in the gaps was exciting enough, but the traveling is what she really loved, meeting and working with all kinds of people. Maybe that’s what kept being the Pathfinder tolerable amid all of the administrative red tape, the galactic civil wars happening all around her, and the stark reality of being responsible for the lives of everyone on the Hyperion and the Nexus.

“The outposts, too,” Dr. T’Perro chimed in. “Don’t forget the outposts.”

“How could I?” Sara answered, her face darkening a shade before regaining its usual brightness. “At any rate, I think we’ve done very well so far. I’m getting a handle on this remnant technology, and both Eos and Havarl are both 100% viable. Who could ask for more?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Lexi asked, raising her eyebrows as Sara chuckled lightly, mouthing the word “no.” “And don’t think I didn’t notice that little dig just there, either, Sara.”

“Nothing ever gets past you, does it?” she asked with a sigh as a sad smile crept up at the corner of her mouth. “It’s been tough, I guess.” She moved her head from side to side, mentally weighing out, instance by instance, the validity of that claim--she’d been through so much of her own tragedy with her father dead and Scott still in a coma, and the burden of being Pathfinder pulled her farther down with each step. But hadn’t others lost as much? Or more?

“ _You guess_? Ryder, you know you’ve been through more than most of us can even imagine. I wish you’d just tell me what’s bothering you. It might help me to recommend something to help you feel better or at least get to the bottom of it.”

Sara knew exactly what bothered her, there weren’t enough seconds in the day to pinpoint exact examples, and she could’ve given seminars on loneliness, but there was nothing to be done about it. Her day-to-day was for the history books, but it wasn’t her life, not really. Fear sat solid in her stomach most days, lodged there by the relative, life and death uncertainties that accompany war. And even if she was able to riddle out two vaults, she didn’t feel like much of a hero: she barely escaped with her life. Those things were reserved for the Pathfinder, for Ryder, not the real person living underneath. With every thrilling victory and discovery the Pathfinder made, Sara drifted farther and farther away from herself. Nothing could ever belong solely to her anymore, and any hopes she’d once had for a normal life six centuries ago had all but been erased before they could begin. It was sad and silly, but at least she could own this.

“It’s natural to feel that way,” Lexi attempted to justify. “Anyone would feel that way in your position.”

“Not Dad,” Sara blurted out. “He’d have everything ironed out, no nonsense.”

“Sara, it’s unfair to--you know your father was--”

“At least Kadara sounds promising, though,” Sara interjected with as much forced optimism as she could, hoping to deflect any further conversation about her father. “I mean, pirates, outlaws, Shena--that’s exotic, right?”

The doctor pressed her lips together, thinking it better to let the heavier conversation keep for another time; there really was no point in pressing, at least not yet. It did, however, segue into another uncomfortable discussion that she’d been meaning to have with the Pathfinder to complete her medical file.

“Speaking of exotic…” she trailed off for a moment, trying to find the right words but failing miserably, “we should discuss your activities--what you do in your free time, I mean. With other people.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Sara closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again, scanning the doctor’s face quickly for any kind of helpful context. It was clear from the lack of eye contact and the way she stumbled over her words that Lexi wasn’t asking about hitting the gym later for strength training. Quite frankly, this was a far cry from what she’d expected when she walked into the Med Lab for her weekly psych exam.

“What I mean to say is, after being frozen for 600 years, your body is bound to have certain urges--”

“ _Urges_ ,” Sara couldn’t help but laugh at the word. The only thing more ridiculous than the doctor’s word choice was the idea that Sara was free to explore those feelings.

“ _Yes, urges_ ,” Lexi continued on, no more annoyed than when Cora had offered a similar response, suggesting that her “urges” were none of the good doctor’s business. She didn’t mind questioning Cora--that was routine and for the records--but Ryder? It felt too intimate an area to probe, considering recent events. “And maybe you’ve chosen to exercise them.”

Before Sara could even begin to roll her eyes, Lexi pressed forward, “If you have, or you’re planning to--”

“Lexi,” Sara’s face had gone entirely red as if every drop of blood had migrated to polar north, “I haven’t exercised _any_ of my urges since way before the Hyperion left for Andromeda, not even one.” A vision of Liam and Jaal after fulfilling that research request for Liam’s armor modification came quickly to mind; the opportunity was there, if she had at all wanted it. “Though, it’s not like people here aren’t advertising for it.”

“The amount of blatant showboating on-board is pretty astounding.” They both giggled in agreeance. Antics on the Tempest were at an all-time high, a result stemming from “the incident,” as the crew collectively referred to it, and Sara’s non-response over it all--she didn’t even bat an eyelash at Jaal’s nakedness, and why should she? “Apparently Liam has even roped Gil into it now.”

“Ugh,” Sara sighed in mock disgust. “It’s not that I mind the view, but…”

“But?” Lexi raised an eyebrow. She was finally getting somewhere.

“I’m just not interested,” Sara shrugged. It wasn’t too far from the truth: she was interested, just not with her crew. The worst part was that, even if there was a mutual attraction on the Tempest, it would be fodder for gossip the next morning. It was easier to avoid that sort of thing altogether than to suffer through the inevitable heartbreak or settle for casual sex. She was too incredibly tired to sort through either. For the right person, on the other hand...

“Okay,” Lexi drew the word out as she gestured into empty air. “But what if Shena is incredibly attractive?”

“How attractive? I don’t _exercise my urges_ with just anyone, you know.” An attempt at levity was the best Sara could muster, but it only held temporarily. The doctor smacked Sara lightly across the arm, narrowing her eyes slightly before another thought pressed to the forefront--what would it hurt to be honest?

“For the record, Ryder,” Lexi offered carefully, “both your father and your brother expressed a desire for you to find happiness after settling in Andromeda. During their entrance interviews--”

“You can see how Dad’s plans for me are already working out,” Sara interrupted, the flatness in her tone pointed at an exposed nerve, struck one too many times. “And I doubt his idea of ‘happiness’ includes outlaws or exiles. So, if you’ll excuse me…” Sara turned on her heel to leave the med lab firmly behind her.

“Ryder, I just want to see you--”

“Happy?” Sara asked without turning around, stopping only for a moment to rest against the doorway. “Right now, let’s focus on Kadara.”


	3. Chapter 3

As Sara waited for her Resistance contact, she took in the aesthetics of Kralla’s Song. The music was too loud for early afternoon, there were way too many people already drunk by her best guess--still drunk, she thought in passing--and the bartender’s aura read less than friendly: it was everything she wanted it to be. She might have even enjoyed the wait, if the krogan across the counter had been more intent on paying his bill.

As the disagreement over the krogan’s tab got livelier, Sara turned her back to it. _You’re definitely not the police here_ , she reassured herself. _Let someone else handle it_. It had already been a very long, exhausting day, and there was no real end in sight. After meeting with this “Shena,” she’d have to round up Drack and Vetra, after investigating the Port and the Slums for her intel on the Archon before she could even think about eating, let alone sleeping.

When the bartender’s knife drove into the counter, the frustration vacated Sara’s body all at once like the air being sucked out of a room. She’d encountered so much petty behavior like this--even on the Nexus--that it made her eye twitch just from the childishness of it. J _ust fucking pay your tab_ , she thought, turning to throw herself into the mix to clean up yet another mess. _How hard is it to--_

And then, there he was. Too close to breathe.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” his accent caressed the length of her neck, from her earlobe down to her collar, stealing what breath was left from her lungs. He casually raised one of the glasses in his hand toward her, an attempt to assess her further. Between trying to subtly work the room around him and the scent of her perfume, his mind was working overtime.

Turning her head sharply, she let out an audible gasp, first caught by his smile for a split second before meeting his gaze. He took a moment to perfect that mental picture with an artist’s care as she looked at him over her shoulder: the straight slope of her nose that turned slightly upward at the tip, the curl of her eyelashes, the shade of her lipstick. His grin only continued to warm as he stood behind her, momentarily paralyzed, raising one of the glasses toward her a bit more, lest he forget himself completely.

“I-I,” Sara stammered for moment, trying to piece together this turn of events. If she’d been this blessed before joining the Initiative, she’d have taken that drink without being offered a second time over that gorgeous accent, let alone-- _But things are different now_ , she tried one last time to convince herself. But in that dying second, the only reasoning that mattered were the thoughts that motivated her to misbehave, and she did have a few seconds to kill. “I think I have time for a drink.”

Before taking a sip, he clinked his glass against hers without a word, a gesture she found oddly charming. She tipped the glass back, and whiskey flooded her palate, kindling a small fire in her cheeks: she could get used to tall, dark, and staggeringly handsome strangers like this. Reyes’s eyes rose with the bottom of her glass, and he watched as she drank it down all at once without flinching. This was his kind of girl.

“Shena,” he offered after cooly downing his drink in kind. “But you can call me Reyes. I hate code names.” His hand reached out to shake hers, something he’d worked very hard to perfect as a point of pride. The pressure of his hand around hers, the eye contact that accompanied it--they were his professional calling card. There were worse things for a woman to remember him by than his strong hands, after all.

“I was expecting someone more…angaran.”

He let out a little laugh, deep and a touch rugged, and it triggered a chemical reaction inside her, drawing her just a little further back against the bar. A thought about magnetism crossed her mind, maybe his magnetism, as it struck her just how close they were, nearly touching. When she looked up at him, trying to shake such thoughts from her mind, she found his eyes were all but glued to her. Her heart crept upward as her eyes rapidly scanned the room. A small, awkward smile crawled from the corners of her mouth.

“The Resistance pays me to supply information...among other things,” he added after clearing his throat. When the words left his lips, he admired the way they hung in the air, just so. _Two can play at this game_ , he thought, pursing his lips softly as she tried to will the building heat away from her cheeks. The least he could do was allow himself a little fun--she was too easy to play with.

“So you’re a smuggler?” She asked sharply, denying her imagination access to the playground of “other things.” She needed to focus on what was important, and working with criminals wasn’t exactly her favorite pastime.

“Your man--Vehn Terev--was arrested by Sloane Kelly, leader of the outcasts,” Reyes responded, skillfully dodging her question. Motioning toward a section of the bar that was a bit more secluded, he led her there with a casual hand at the small of her back. He didn’t care exactly about being overheard--Terev’s crimes were all but common knowledge now--but he wanted to be explicitly seen with her. The more private the conversation looked, the better. “Word spread about what he did to Moshae Sjefa.”

Sara watched Reyes’s gaze drop to the floor as he shook his head solemnly, while the place his hand vacated at the small of her back threatened to burn a hole through her. When his eyes rose, she noticed his gaze sweep past her, flitting about the room for a mere second before focusing on something off in the horizon. Her stomach wrenched slightly, but she chalked it up to mounting nerves.

“The people are calling for his execution, and Sloane,” he paused, gesturing widely to build the sarcasm, “she’s a woman of the people.” His pulse quickened, just enough for the adrenaline to kick in. This was the single most vital moment of the entire operation--it had to go according to plan or he might as well kiss everything--his livelihood, his future, probably even his life--goodbye.

“I think I like her already,” Sara glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye, playfully. His expression crumpled while he continued gazing out the window. She had heard some pretty disgusting rumors about Sloane Kelly, but Reyes’s distaste was evident.

“Well, she _doesn’t_ like you,” he leaned in close, and the heat of his breath brushed her ear, sending a chill straight down her spine. There was something in the way he said it, the very matter-of-factness of his tone, that didn’t sit right with her. It stirred up something deep in her gut, that familiar gnawing feeling that bet against her every chance it got.

“She’s never met me,” Sara almost spat, a sentiment that Reyes dismissed with a shrug. He liked her resolve, for what it was worth--a lesser person would’ve avoided a very public conversation concerning Sloane Kelly. But not her. Not even if she was clueless about what she was dealing with.

“You work for the Initiative,” he said quietly, resting his arms and the bulk of his weight against the counter as he silently prayed for her to take the bait with a ringing affirmative. “Sloane was part of the uprising on the Nexus. I doubt she’ll give up Vehn easily.”

“I guess that means I’m taking him. With or without her permission.”

 _Bingo_ , Reyes thought, his eyes lighting up like a casino at night. It was exactly the response he’d been hoping for, something very impulsive. It poised him to begin moving all the pawns into place, and it didn’t hurt that some pawns were much prettier than others.

“We’re going to be friends, you and I,” his accent thickened as he straightened up, watching her muscles relax, even as he looked her over one last time. His tongue passed over the inward slope of his bottom lip as he considered the shape of her mouth, the newest addition to his short list of regrets. “There might be another way to get to Vehn. You work Sloane, and I’ll talk to the Resistance.”

With that, his job was done for the moment, and he turned to go while his good luck would last. There was no need to outstay his welcome: one way or another, he’d be seeing her again--especially since he knew she’d get nothing out of Sloane.

Sara, however, might have reached out to grab him, herself, if she wasn’t conducting Initiative business. And then it hit her, _I have no way of contacting him_. That won’t do.

“How will I get in touch with you if things go south?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. SAM let out a “tsk” in the background of their comm channel, and it took all of the resolve she had not to defend herself. It’s not like she didn’t need to know.

Reyes only winked in response: it was both a promise he could keep and his signature on a job well done. But first she’d have to work for it.

Sara blinked, hard, a few times to regain any of her composure. Her legs felt like gelatin underneath her, which only made her heart sink. _Am I really that obvious?_ she wondered, looking around desperately to make her own escape.

“Hey, you gotta pay!” the bartender yelled, leaning over the edge of the counter. Sara nearly jumped out of her own skin, swearing at being startled so easily.

“Keep the change,” she resigned smartly. The least Reyes could’ve done is pay for the drinks, but she wouldn’t let him forget it. _Yeah, as soon as things go south, you can tell him all about it_ , she thought, adding insult to injury.

“Always do.”


	4. Chapter 4

Working Sloane went about as well as Sara anticipated, and her expectations weren’t particularly high. Sloane had seen her as an Initiative guard dog from the moment she walked into Outcast headquarters, and after that, there was no chance in hell she’d ever be able to overcome that roadblock, not after what she’d said. _More like a fucking armed blockade now_ , she grimaced inwardly. _What a nightmare._

Sara thought Sloane was too stubborn for her own good, light years away from the director of Nexus security that seemed so level-headed in the reports she’d read--at least before the uprising, at any rate. But then again, so was she, and it was going to take more than Sloane Kelly to keep her from getting things done. She’d just have to get creative.

_Which means working with Reyes._

It wasn’t the first time that thought had crossed her mind since he’d vanished into thin air. It was nearly all she could manage to think about, even as she took a verbal beat down from Sloane. The fact that it left a sinking feeling in her gut and butterflies edging toward her throat were the just the icing on the cake.

“SAM, what do we know about our friend, Reyes?” She pressed a finger to the button on the lift, making the most of her ride down to the Slums.

“Very little, Pathfinder. All of his records on the Nexus were lost or corrupted during the uprising. The only thing we know for sure is that he was a pilot for a shuttle, N-503, call sign ‘Anubis.’”

“Well, that’s not exactly encouraging,” she said, her fingers drumming against the railing of the lift. “What about here on Kadara?”

“Unknown. Rumors suggest Mr. Vidal runs in a ring of smugglers, and even his proclivity to aid the Resistance seems self-serving, if nothing else. Ryder, I’d advise proceeding with the utmost caution until more evidence can determine where his loyalties lie.”

“If only we had that kind of time,” Sara chewed lightly at her bottom lip as a wave of hopelessness washed over her. “People will die if we don’t straighten things out down here: the fighting, the stolen Nexus supplies, it all adds up.”

“It’s unfortunate that we don’t know where to find him.”

“Oh,” Sara sighed, her exasperation wearing through. “I have an idea.”

She tried to admire what she could of the landscape beyond the port as the lift crawled sluggishly downward, unhurried, but the thought of having to work with Reyes made her stomach shift with nervousness. She could see the way that this could go--mostly because she had no trust in herself, not around men like him. Reyes had been all but undressing her with his eyes, hadn’t he? She didn’t imagine that. And she’d only known one man like that before, who could look at and through her all at once; the thought of him made her shiver against the railing. _Stop it, Sara_ , she scolded herself. _Not that, not now._

She forcefully ushered her mind to more professional pursuits, rationalizing how nice it would be to even have an ally outside of the Initiative and her crew. There were the angarans, but it was a fair assumption they’d stay skeptical of any new race of people, considering their war with the kett. Reyes likely had a wide network of contacts, and if the Resistance liked him enough to give him a codename, that had to mean something somewhere. He was in no way a safe bet, but she’d keep hoping.

“ _Finally_ ,” she breathed, stepping off the lift as it groaned against the ground. There was only one place someone like Reyes would hold up in Kadara. Somewhere very cliché and in plain sight. “SAM, would you like to make a bet about where Reyes is hiding?”

“What’s your wager?”

“Nothing really,” She pretended to think out loud, nonchalantly, as she made her way towards the electric sex of Tartarus’s neon signs. “If I win, you keep everything involving Reyes to our private channel unless I explicitly tell you. If you win, I promise to take your guidance more seriously across the board.”

“Very well, I accept,” SAM’s ready confidence was elevated, more cheerful than his usual calm monotony. It might have taken Sara by surprise if she hadn’t already understood SAM’s love of logic and probability, and his blatant displeasure in her ignoring his advice, an occasion that frequented itself more and more as she pioneered her role as Pathfinder.

“And your guess?” Sara stopped for a moment, leaning back against the wall outside the seediest underbelly that Kadara had to offer. The bass line from inside vibrated the foundation’s walls against her, as she waited for SAM to work it out.

“Knowing what we do about Mr. Vidal,” SAM proceeded much like he would in any similar scenario. “Our best guess would be to search the outlying areas away from the port. It seems logical that he would want to avoid public view while still being in close range. His history as a pilot also suggests that he could already be familiar with the best routes nearby to move about undetected.”

“He’s here, SAM, in Tartarus,” she barely let him finish, unable to contain herself as her hand tapped the wall behind her. “I’d bet my life on it.” The drinks and dancers made sense for a man of Reyes’s character. It was downright stereotypical, and if she was wrong, she _might_ even feel sorry for making such a sweeping generalization. The fact remained that it made sense for him to be seen there. It kept him out of the fray and far enough from Sloane to conduct business freely within the walls of the city, accessible to even the most obscure and dangerous criminals the Port could supply. The music ensured that overhearing business deals would be nearly impossible, at least without help. Isn’t he a clever boy? she thought, a tiny wave of satisfaction rippling through her.

“Since we’re here, we might as well find out. Lead the way, Ryder.”

Sara felt such a rush at being right, and SAM’s verbal resignation, the announcement that he’d switched to a private channel, only heightened that feeling. It took a matter of mere seconds to extort the necessary information from Tartarus staff, and that little jolt of euphoria quickly bounced through her to the point she thought lightning might shoot from her fingertips--it made her walk a little taller as she flowed through the cracked door to his private room before closing it behind her. If it wasn’t fully closed to begin with, _it wasn’t worth knocking_.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to walk into, but Reyes continued to surprise. His room in Tartarus could’ve been fraught with just about any of the vices Kadara offered, but to her shock the room was surprisingly empty, sterile even, with the exception of a few tables, chairs, and an oddly placed email terminal. It was a bit dark for her taste, too, but there was nothing unseemly happening, at least. Not that she could tell, short of scanning the entire room.

“ _Ryder_ ,” that same grin, a blinding flash of white teeth, spread like wildfire across his face, though he didn’t bother to get up. “I was hoping you’d stop by! Heard you had a nice chat with Sloane.”

 _Damn, that was fast._ Reyes was gathering intel almost instantly, a thought that didn’t scare her perhaps as much as it should’ve. She used all of the willpower she had to walk over to him and keep composure—and if she had to play his game, so be it. _Just be cool, Sara._

“And I addressed her by her proper title and everything, too. I suppose Her Imperial Majesty wasn’t in the mood to deal with the riff-raff this afternoon.”

Reyes nearly doubled over, he was laughing so hard. He’d expected that the Pathfinder would ruffle Sloane’s feathers, but he had refused to believe the reports coming from Sloane’s camp. His sources said she’d given Sloane a real piece of her mind, throwing down a few very witty insults when Sloane refused to bow down to the Initiative showing. No one had ever talked to Sloane that way, not ever, and he’d have clapped if his sides weren’t in stitches from laughing so hard. She was bold, this Pathfinder, and if it didn’t get her killed, he might even like her for it.

“And now you understand what it’s like to live under her thumb,” the residual smile still clung to him. “It’s not as comfortable as it looks, trust me.” He glanced down to consider the drink next to him for a moment, picking it up to swirl its contents before replacing it again. “The Collective is supposed to be better, but it’s hard to trust a faceless leader.”

“Especially with a title like _the Charlatan_ ,” she added. Sara had only heard bits and pieces about the Charlatan, but it was enough for her to realize the danger. She’d rather deal with someone like Reyes, no matter how bewildering he was, than to actively try and pin down a shadow. “It doesn’t exactly inspire loyalty, does it?”

“I have to admit, I’m jealous. That’s a better nickname than _Shena_.” He leaned forward, glancing up at her to watch his distraction hit the mark. Anything to avoid talking about the Charlatan--that was dangerous ground.

“What _does_ your codename mean, anyway?” She hadn’t allowed herself to react to him this time, trying to stay as cool as stone. But she liked making him laugh, and the way he looked at her, the things he said--they all encouraged her to drop her guard, inch by inch.

“It’s the angaran word for…” he hesitated for a moment, “mouth.” He hadn’t meant to keep torturing her, but he couldn’t pass up such a golden opportunity. “I’m good with words.”

“Among other things,” she slid in, a smirk luxuriating at the corner of her mouth.

 _Fuck._ His pulse quickened as she fed his words back to him. She was already learning how to push his buttons, and he couldn’t have that--no matter how attractive she made it look. It would complicate things, certainly. Although, he never had been one to clean up a mess, whether he’d made it or not. There was no point in trying to start babysitting himself now. “No one has complained yet.”

“You know, I think that may be the most straightforward thing you’ve said to me so far.” she said, watching him squirm a bit from under a raised eyebrow as the ground seemed to move beneath her feet. She turned to grab a nearby chair and whipped it around to sit with it between her legs. She sank lightly down into it, her arms crossed over the top--a testament to years of childhood dance lessons. She watched as he melted, just enough to notice, and she let her laziest smile grow unattended.

“I have _no idea_ what you mean.” He had been maintaining eye contact with her for exactly thirty seconds; he counted each one out in his head, unable to determine if this was still part of the act. He drank her in, transfixed by how natural she felt across a table from him, like she could’ve always been there. But for as much as he didn’t like the feeling of missing out, the impending reality was that if things went sour-- _and they always did_ \--he’d be losing more than a lover.

“Of course not,” she drawled as that little smile kept. She wondered at him for a second, feeling him smolder, with heat just radiating from across the table--if she could light a candle off him, it might even be kind of romantic, at least for a place where cage dancers were the main entertainment. How cute, she thought, relaxing into the chair. “But speaking of the Resistance….”

“All work and no play will make the Pathfinder a dull girl, Ryder,” he chided her with playful irreverence as he reached down into his pocket, removing a vial of glowing blue liquid. He leaned across the table, holding it out for her in the palm of his hand. “But if you insist.”

“You want me to break a man out of captivity with goo,” her fingers delicately brushed his palm as she picked up the vial, examining it in the light. A tiny star sparkled just behind her eyes as she tucked the vial away. “Perfect.”

“You’ll locate Vehn,” he sighed facetiously, “he can use that on whatever Sloane is holding him in, and then you get to look the other way when he happens to escape with the Resistance. I trust you can manage the rest?”

“More than manage.” She rose to her feet, turning the chair back around to slide it under the table. “But his intel better be worth it.”

“You’ll be the judge of that,” he countered as he got up to walk her out, a particularly nice gesture considering he was giving up his front row seat to the best view in the house. He raised a hand, motioning toward the door, keeping close behind her. “I’ll send the coordinates to your omni-tool.”

“Thank you, Reyes.” She stopped short in the doorway before turning to look up at him, her perfume gently filling the gap between them. “For your help. I mean it.” In the shadows, her eyes were like dark, glittering pools that he’d fall into if he wasn’t careful, and her voice was soft, genuine, not saturated with sarcasm like before. It tied his stomach into tiny knots and made his heart stop dead for a split second—everything about her, from her posture to the slight tilt of her chin, sang to him, making him feel important and needed. Good, even.

“My pleasure,” he managed after clearing his throat gently.

“Do you say that to all the girls?” she asked coyly before crossing the threshold. All he could do was close the door and smile.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”


	5. Chapter 5

These were unusual work hours for Reyes, there was no doubt. By his count, the bar was starting to fill up outside his door, and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to go home and sleep yet. Maybe there was no rest for the wicked after all.

Not that he could’ve slept if he wanted to, not now. His mind was preoccupied with too many conflicting thoughts, and graceful ones at that. To blunt the edge, he poured himself another drink, draining it quickly. And another. The combination of sleep deprivation and alcohol made him glow with a certain giddiness, a very welcome change compared to his usual, controlled sense of things, and he resumed his seat, leaning his head back to rest against the oddly plush seatback.

His eyes closed involuntarily as he reclined, the club’s pumping bassline carrying him farther away with each beat. He’d developed this little daydream since coming to Kadara, one he’d lose himself in more and more as things continued to improve. Smuggling, as it turned out, was becoming a rather profitable front, and dividends began to mirror the amount of dedication he’d been pouring into his work—and it followed that eventually he’d be able to do something with that money if plans continued to pan out. All while keeping up appearances, of course.

There was the pressing notion that moving up in the world wouldn’t be without its luxuries. His mind called up that now familiar imagery--a much larger apartment, full of large, open spaces and decked out to the nines, offering a one-way view of the Port. He imagined himself there, sitting back in the center of a gigantic long, black leather sectional, cold drink in hand. Between him and a wall of windows, there’d be a solid coffee table, square and all white, its sole purpose to perfectly display some lithe body, dancing for him against the backdrop of the fading sunset.

The faceless dancer had been no more than furniture in previous iterations, his attention more wrapped around the physical space than its finer points, but as the music changed over in the club outside the room he’d come to call his “office,” he entertained himself with the particulars.

The Pathfinder gave him ample material to unfold into his little distraction. She was his kind of gorgeous, he’d give her that--perfectly pale like porcelain, her face rounded out a bit against the cut of her cheekbones. And he could just picture her there, the loaded curvature of her hips swaying, locking in his gaze, as her hands drug down over her chest towards her navel as she danced, elevated before him. The rhythm emanated from her, growing louder and more urgent, as she stepped forward--with a leap of his mind, she was in his lap, her knees on either side of him and her hand resting at his cheek before lightly running her slender fingers through his hair.

He remembered the scent of her perfume, like verdant roses, still a bit green, mixed with amber, and he felt drunk as she beamed down at him, her eyes—so dark brown that they were almost black, he realized—threatened to swallow him in one bite. His eyes fell to her lips, a full cupid’s bow, slightly parted, brimming with the promise of softness, as she leaned in closer--

“Busy?” a familiar chimed from just inside the door.

“Keema,” Reyes smiled without opening his eyes for a moment, though his homemade entertainment had already vacated the premises. “Business or pleasure?”

Keema Dohrgun, a recent business associate and _friend_ , if such words could be used in their rather unique business, wrinkled her nose at the thought of anything outside the realm of the platonic. Reyes was admittedly too much across the board, especially where trouble was concerned, even if he was considerably good-looking for a human. She gave him a good look over, now that he’d finally decided to sit up and pay attention—something was different, she could just tell.

“Why, Reyes,” she began, looking down at him from across the room. “It’s almost like you care.”

“For you, Keema,” he gestured vaguely to everything and nothing, “anything is possible.” He paused for a moment, quickly realizing that a visit meant something important had happened in Sloane’s camp; otherwise, she’d have kept to a more discreet methods. “So what brings you? No sudden developments, I hope.”

The success of their combined venture meant having a whole lot of patience, something that Reyes was more or less capable of in the right situations, and letting other people do the actual work. Keema was his in at Sloane’s hideout, not that Sloane did much hiding, and her intel had proven so useful over the past months that he’d even started listening to her advice, no small leap on his part. He’d learned not to trust people, and Keema was about as trustworthy, in her own way, as anyone he knew could get.

“Only if you count the human pathfinder’s arrival on Kadara.” Keema was nothing if not observant, one of her finer qualities that Reyes had come to admire. When his mind worked on borrowed time, hers was on red alert, recalling every single detail like a well-studied still capture. “And I thought it best we’re both clear on how to handle that situation upfront before things get too complicated and without a paper trail, even if our lines are both encrypted.”

“She really is something, isn’t she?”

“She kicked down Sloane’s door when security refused to let her through. I’m not sure _something_ is the right word.” Keema watched closely as Reyes laughed, his features softening just a bit. His complement did not go unnoticed. “I’m guessing she didn’t need to exercise the same tact with you.”

“I think we both know that I’m a bit more approachable than Sloane on a _variety_ of levels.”

“Which is exactly why I’m here,” Keema purred. She was up to something, but Keema always was. Always thinking two steps ahead. Where he laid out the foundation for operations, she attended to the details, careful to address the many things that could go wrong.

“Go on.”

“I take it you’ve begun working your particular brand of magic on her already.” What should’ve been a question sounded much more like an affirmative statement. Keema had her way of knowing things, not unlike himself, but even for him the interaction with Ryder at Kralla’s song was tame. Not that he didn’t trust her, but on the rare occasion that Keema knew more than she should, it made him anxious. I really ought to check this room again for bugs, another mental note for his growing to-do list.

“You sound so sure,” he mused. It was amazing at how well he’d gotten at looking entertained while feeling the exact opposite. “If I’m _that_ predictable, I’d better work on it.”

“Oh _relax_ , Reyes,” her voice was light, too airy for having just dealt with Sloane’s hair-trigger temper. One of Keema’s particular talents as a double agent was her innate ability to balm just about anything over—she had a knack for making just about anyone feel better about anything. It was a talent she had to employ often with Sloane, and an exhausting one, which usually put her in a particularly foul mood the angrier that Sloane was. “I saw her leaving just now, all smiles, you know. No woman looks like that without encouragement.”

“I may have been a bit generous, yes.” His smile was a gut reaction that peeked through his carefully crafted veneer. The Pathfinder had taken the bait a bit more than he’d anticipated, but this also came with its own set of problems. _Some with their own instant ramifications_ , he realized. It was best to just deal with them now. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Normally, I’d slap you for being so stupid,” she paused, letting that vision play out in her mind—that desire arose more times that she’d admit, at least to him—as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “But in this case, I think you could run with it a bit more.”

“Ha. Good joke. Got anymore?”

“I’m serious,” she blinked at him casually for a few seconds until she realized the look of sheer mystification on his face wasn’t going anywhere. He really was precious. “What’s that adage you humans have? ‘You attract more flies with honey?’”

Reyes rubbed his bottom lip with the side of his index finger, his personal tell for being lost in thought. There was too much depending on Ryder’s involvement for things to go wrong, but Keema did have a point. It would be a way for him to subtly keep tabs on her and summon her when needed. It’d also make things interesting, if not _fun_ , while it lasted, and he wouldn’t have to censor his flirtation at all— _would’ve been hard, admit it_ , he quietly considered. These were all on the up and up.

But this setup was problematic at best. Of course they couldn’t be publicly seen together, which would put a strain on things. If she caught wind of being used, it wouldn’t end well for him: she didn’t strike him as the type of woman who enjoyed being double-crossed. There was also his roaming eye to consider, which always got him in trouble one way or another--surely she’d notice. At best, the plan would work out, they’d have fun, and she’d be no more heartbroken than he was. At worst, she’d probably have him killed, or worse, the unthinkable would happen. His face contorted as he shook that thought straight out of his mind—not without making him feel a bit sick first.

“Does that make _me_ the bait? I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“You’ll survive, I’m sure.” Her tongue-in-cheek response did precisely nothing to calm his nerves, which sat just noticeable enough in his eyes to pique her interest. An interesting thought, indeed. “You always do.”

“And if I don’t? Your faith in my skillset is rather comforting, but—“

“You’ll be _fine_ ,” her reassurance fell as an afterthought as notifications chimed simultaneously on their omni-tools. As both sets of eyes poured over the incoming message, that sick feeling in his stomach stirred, heightened by a touch of excitement.

_The Pathfinder was en route to free Vehn Terev._

“Looks like you’ve got somewhere to be,” Keema shot a sly glance in his direction as Reyes pulled himself to his feet. “You just keep being your charming self. We can talk more later. After she finds evidence against the Roekkar.”

 _Wouldn’t want to turn into a pumpkin_ , he thought, suddenly reminded of children’s story from Earth. _And if the shoe fits…_

Reyes closed the space between himself, Keema, and the door with lightning precision for a man who’d spent most of his day—and the night prior--drinking, stopping to acknowledge Keema on his way out. He paused next to her, a few feet shy of the door, cocking an eyebrow that he hoped would magnify the smugness he meant to project.

“Don’t worry,” he hummed, his voice low. “you can count on me.”

“You’d be dead already, otherwise.”

He breezed past her, the small laugh he contained damped down the writhing in his stomach, just a fraction. As he stepped out into the upper level of Tartarus, making his way to the Slums, he let the music carry him, snaking between the sea of drunk and dancing bodies, almost forgetting that Keema hadn’t followed him out. That was last on the list of things he had to contend with.

 _She can let herself out_ , he thought channeling those nerves into something more enjoyable. _I have to go see a pathfinder about an angaran._

“Among other things,” he whispered through a grin. His heart was beating in his ears like a war drum, but with each advancing step, his excitement only grew.

These were the times when he truly loved his job, and luck pending, he hoped that feeling would last.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some unique backstory for Ryder that I've finessed to give depth to her relationship with Cora, Scott, and Alec. I think it certainly makes things with Ryder a bit more interesting, and definitely foreshadows the next chapter. Enjoy!

Sara found herself up to her chin in blankets in that fleeting place between asleep and awake.  Her anxiety of late had reached heights she’d once thought impossible, though the fact that she was preoccupied certainly didn’t help. She’d become very used to exerting herself to the point of exhaustion, and today was no exception: she’d explored more of Kadara than she cared to see in one visit, freed an angaran fugitive for intel on the Archon, and run into Reyes _three_ times, each more interesting than the last. She figured she deserved a good hibernation, but a solid six hours would have to suffice. Zero dark thirty always came too early.

It felt good to peel off her armor and even better to shower and slip into pajamas—a pair of cotton boxer shorts she’d taken scissors to, cutting them just too short for public consumption, and a generic black tank top.  She’d even taken time to dry and straighten her hair, knowing full well that she’d never get up early enough to do it in the morning. It was a habit she’d consciously enforce now that Kadara had more to offer than the usual remnant technology.

The Tempest hovered in Kadara’s orbit, and between the gentle hum of the ship’s engines, the amazing view of space, and the digitally controlled thermostat—set specifically for her quarters at a balmy 21 degrees Celsius—falling asleep was something she excelled at, as long as she could quiet her mind.

Tonight, she’d had more trouble than usual.  Her blood pressure spiked every time she thought of Gil’s hands fidgeting with the transmitter that would lead them to the Archon.  She knew, deep down, that it’d likely take some time to for those plans to develop, but she wasn’t in any particular rush to square off with more kett. _But first they’d have to find it._

Then, there was that image of Reyes, winking at her and reaching out from the back of her mind.  It’d have the same effect on her vitals as the kett, she assumed, but now was the time to rest.  And nothing about Reyes seemed even remotely restful.

“Pathfinder, Dr. T’Perro would like to speak to you.”  The sound of SAM’s voice sent her flying into shock, and she briefly considered digging out her implant as her chest heaved ragged breaths in a race to catch her heart.

Sara was still getting used to SAM popping in and out of her thoughts, and this time he’d scared her almost out of her skin. His tone was always gentle, perhaps conscious of his intrusiveness, but any noise would have done the same.  She was nearly asleep—but this was just one of those perks of being a pathfinder.

 “Send her in, SAM,” she managed as best as she could, still a bit stunned but now incredibly awake.  She reached over to her bedside table, slapping lazily at her omni-tool, unceremoniously pounding in the code for the lights with the corner of her palm.  She squinted as the harsh light assaulted her eyes, and as her heartbeat drained slowly from her ears, she could hear Lexi’s footsteps gaining on the door until it opened with a whoosh. Sara climbed up into a sitting position, a pillow hugged tight to her chest, and tried her best to look attentive.

“Ryder,” Lexi peeked in from around the corner, “I wanted to apologize for earlier.  It’s not my place to--”

“It’s fine,” Sara smiled softly, the sleep clinging to her voice as a last hope. It took her a few seconds to recall their earlier conversation; after all that happened, she’d nearly forgotten the reason why the doctor would feel the need to deliver a personal apology.  “You meant well.”

“Most people do,” Lexi nodded, “but that doesn’t make it right.”

The exhaustion wore at Sara’s face, etched into the tiny lines forming at the corner of her eyes, and when she stifled a sprawling yawn, Lexi took that as her cue to let Ryder get some sleep. From what she could pry out of SAM, Sara had been sleeping more and more, her vitals reading a permanent sense of fatigue, and she wondered how much longer Sara would be able to keep it up.

 “Well, Ryder, I’ll let you get some re—“

 “Wait,” Sara interjected before Lexi could even turn around. “Don’t you want to know about _Shena_?” There was no way Sara could entertain hibernation now—SAM’s scare had given her more than a second wind—and she might as well enjoy it.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask.” Her words came out in a rush as Sara nodded her head toward the empty side of her bed, inviting the doctor in.

As Lexi crawled up next to her, situating herself among a sea of blankets, Sara reached over to her nightstand, grabbing her omni-tool, and slid it over her arm before hailing SAM. “SAM, you don’t happen to have a picture of Shena, do you?”

Her omni-tool hummed for a second before hoisting a scaled, full body portrait of Reyes into the air between them.  Their eyes poured over him, with an equal and unbridled interest, as Sara held her breath, waiting for a reaction.  The picture, to SAM’s credit, was a good one—it captured all of his playful arrogance in a stance, arms crossed at the chest, grinning furiously, and not without that beckoning look he seemed to keep rather handy.  Even here, Reyes looked comfortable—very at ease and very easy to talk to.

“Oh Ryder,” Lexi half-sighed in awe, leaning a bit closer to the picture to best study her specimen.  She squinted at him, turning her head from side to side as she considered the angles of his face carefully, until she was finally satisfied.  “That’s just unfair.”

Sara ended up telling her all about her run-ins with Reyes, working in all the minute details that she’d left out during their impromptu crew meeting after setting foot back on the Tempest.  Lexi listened with quiet attentiveness, but it didn’t stop her from gushing, especially when Sara recalled their most recent exchange.

_“Are you here to check up on me?” Sara asked playfully, catching a glimmer of moonlight off his right shoulder, just out of sight. She’d freed a wanted criminal less than ten minutes ago: there was no time for taking chances, but she didn’t need to actually see Reyes to know he was there._

_Curiously, it was only when she cocked her pistol and aimed it directly at him that he stepped out of the shadows._

_“If by ‘checking up’ you mean ‘monitoring the outcome of a situation I have a vested interest in,’ then yes.”  Everything about him looked cool to the touch—all calm and reserved, answering the question without answering the question._

_“I guess a bit of that interest is directed my way, isn’t it?” The words left her lips a smug discovery as she holstered the gun.  He didn’t need to talk in code to get his point across. As she approached him, his gaze flitted from Drack to Jaal, making eye contact with both before grinning at her like the devil._

_“Also yes.”_

_A few moments of silence passed between them, and Sara could feel Drack’s annoyance straight through the heavy exhale of each breath as he and Jaal both loomed behind her.  Reyes let the silence last just long enough to remember, anchoring the situation back to business without missing a beat._  
  
_“I assume you got what you needed from Vehn.” His line of vision dropped for a moment before climbing back up and out at Sara, his words chosen very carefully to invite elaboration._

_“It does seem that way.”  Jaal had grown impatient now, the gravel of his sigh joining Drack’s in chorus._

_“Good,” he hummed, his voice was soft and dark as velvet.  “Then we can discuss the terms of my repayment.”_

_Sara’s stomach felt like it dropped thirteen stories into the soles of her shoes—she made a mental note to explain people like Reyes to Jaal.  To his credit, Reyes presented them with a mutually beneficial project. The objective was easy enough: investigate a murder scene near Vehn’s transponder and report back the evidence.  Reyes suspected the Roekkar, a fact he delivered with striking—albeit circumstantial—evidence. But the end result would make Kadara safer for everyone, especially the Angara.  How noble of him._  
  
_Still, the feeling in her gut refused to dissipate. He could turn the charm on and off with the flip of a switch.  And yet, the business end of things felt right—freeing Vehn for a trial held by his own people and sorting out murders that Sloane Kelly used to extort protection money from the exiles, they were the right thing to do._

_“Just use that fancy A.I. of yours to scan around.  See what you can dig up and report back tomorrow.”_

_“I sound pretty integral to this plan,” Sara tried to catch his eye again, unsure of what result it might produce.  She’d happily take any sign that was clear without being particularly picky._

_“SAM is integral…” his tone hinted toward consideration, the last syllable tilted just northward.  “You are a bonus.”  He granted eye contact for a split second, and when she locked in on his gaze, he stepped backward. “Guess I'll be seeing y--.”_

_“About those drinks you owe me,” she countered, stepping closer without looking away.  He wasn’t getting off that easily. Not this time._

_Reyes kept stepping backward until his heel met a stack of empty shipping crates, causing him to lose a fraction of balance.  When he caught himself, she was right there with those magnificent doe eyes, brimming with all kinds of questions.  He chuckled at her lightly, shrugging._

_“And usually I’m the model gentleman.”  He inched his way around her, avoiding the crates, to his exit.  He had everything he needed now, short of an answer—hook, line, and sinker._

_“Then why don’t I believe you?” she asked as he backed away.  He grinned, giving her a final once-over for the road—the exact moment Sara realized she was in trouble._

_“Because I’m lying.”_

As Lexi muffled an array of little gasps, a good mix of surprise and shock, Sara rubbed a thumb to her temple, massaging away the impending headache that threatened her for even trying to dissect her association with Reyes.  “It really is the weirdest little game of cat and mouse.” 

“I think you mean the sexiest game of cat and mouse.  He’s clearly enjoying himself.”  Her reaction was genuine enough, but the fact that Ryder responded to Reyes the way she did struck the doctor as worrisome.  A little distraction from the demands of the Initiative and the war against the kett would do Sara some real good, but she hadn’t expected her joke to come true.  Still, she trusted Sara to make her own choices--they all had to.  
  
“He controls it all so well,” Sara’s face dulled for a second, a shade or two darker than it’d been just a moment prior.  “I can’t tell if he’s flirting _with me_ or just flirting.  And if he is flirting with me, is it because I’m _me_ or because I’m the Pathfinder.”

“He’s a _criminal_.  What does it matter?”

Sara grimaced, her body bracing itself for the incoming wave of retribution--the strength and duration of which would only be determined by the span of time Cora had actually been standing in the doorway.  Sara instinctively looked to Lexi as her own heart crammed itself into her throat, beating away at the sudden onslaught of adrenaline.  Lexi forced her eyes to the ground in an attempt to remain impartial, unsure whether to go or stay.

Sara’s friendship with Cora was forged and tested through tough times. When things had gone particularly bad for the Ryder family, when her mom’s health had taken a turn for the worst and her dad began transitioning into being Pathfinder, Cora had more or less moved in with her family. It caused more than its fair share of tension, considering that Sara always felt like Cora was meant to be her replacement and Cora’s attitude toward Sara was aloof, at best, from day one.

Even though people readily mistook Cora for her twin—they did share the same aesthetic, bleached blonde with dark roots and eyebrows, despite Sara’s hair falling just above her natural waist instead of cropped short—Cora was _much_ closer with Scott than her. But then, Scott had caused much less trouble and heartbreak for the Ryder family than she had.  

“Have you taken up willful eavesdropping now, or should I assume the same rules concerning privacy from the Ryder house apply here?”  Sara hadn’t meant the words to be so cutting, but this storm had been brewing over the last few weeks, the intensity kicking up the longer Scott was in a coma.  He was usually the buffer, the one who could make them both see reason in the middle of a blowout fight, but without him as a physical reminder, Sara didn’t see the need to back down.

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“It doesn’t merit answering, considering we all fit into the same category.”  

“Apples and oranges, Ryder,” Cora scoffed.  “This Reyes is a thief and a murderer—what would your _father_ say?”

 _Fuck what Dad would say_ , Sara thought.  It was her go-to remark, saved for just such an occasion, but it seemed wiser to approach this argument from an alternate angle.  Sara enjoyed living and wanted to continue doing it, at the very least.

“I think Dad would do whatever he had to do for the greater good.  How many exiles will we have to kill here in Kadara? How many have we killed already?  The Initiative screwed these people, Cora.  _Screwed them_.  They were promised paradise, and we exiled them for panicking when they got the opposite."  Sara thought she'd made her point clear, but when Cora quickly inhaled, ready to attack, she decided to drive it home. "Everyone assumes it’s easy being the Initiative’s figurehead, their sovereign _fucking_ law. When the Outcasts have problems, they’re aiming at _me_. I understand better than you think.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to shamelessly flirt with them.  If you think this guy has any other goal than using you to get whatever he wants, you’re stupid. Maybe you just need _all_ of the attention, huh Ryder?”  
  
Sara bit her tongue again while a myriad of thoughts ran full tilt through her mind, most of them angry.  Cora had a very limited number of things she could be hinting at, and none of them presented themselves as particularly friendly.  Sara had tried to salvage what she could with Cora since her father died, but Cora took being second in command poorly and Sara wasn't catering to anyone. The fact that the Ryder family black sheep became the Pathfinder, that was interesting, but if Scott’s cryo pod hadn’t been damaged, Sara knew that’s who Alec would’ve really chosen.  That made Cora third, and coming in after the family fuck up had to be difficult.

But _this_? This was ridiculous.  Cora had her own baggage with Scott, the painfully oblivious wonder boy, and was in no place to be doling out advice.  Sara couldn’t tell if Cora was afraid that she’d slip back into bad habits, the kind that merited her familial reputation, or if she was just jealous in a staggering amount of ways.  Either way, she was too exhausted to care anymore. 

“So, you’re okay with the fact that we negotiate with criminals, that _we basically are_ criminals, but flirting with them is somehow your limit? Give me a break. With those standards, it’s going to be a long and boring life, trust me.”  
  
Cora stood totally rigid in the doorway, her posture locked into red alert. Sara swore steam would star pouring off of her any second, and Lexi, trapped like an animal in cage, tried her best to be invisible.  “I’m just trying to look out for you, Ryder. Scott would agree--”  
  
“Until you tell Scott that you love him, I’m not buying any of what you're selling.” Sara crawled out of bed, waving Cora out into the hallway.  She shivered, as her fingers stiffly poked the button to close the door, repeatedly and at light speed “And I’ve only known Reyes for a day.  Can you _please_ calm down?”

“ _Ryder_ , I—“ 

“ _Go_ ,” Ryder urged, her voice seething with annoyance, through the closed door as the lock clicked into place. “Reconsider your life views or whatever. I don’t care what you do, but _go away now_.”

Sara quickly turned her back to the door, closing her eyes over a deep, ragged breath. She let it sweep throughout the corners of her body, feeling the tendrils of air curling as they expanded, carrying away all of the bad.  As soon as she was sure she wouldn’t explode, and the sound of forceful footsteps receded across the ship, she opened her eyes.

Sara slipped back into bed, her features relaxing as she melded back in with the residual warmth in her covers, and Lexi offered an apologetic smile.  This was a lot of tension to unravel, but Ryder maintained the moral high ground, at least.  Her delivery often left a bit to be desired, but Lexi was impressed with how much Ryder held back.  Normally, she’d have expected Sara to launch an all-out war against personal attacks like that, but maybe she’d grown up some since arriving in Andromeda.  

The family history was still puzzling, however.  Alec, Scott, and Cora had all hinted toward some greater issue that revolved around Sara, but Sara had never even nudged in that direction.  As Sara drew out a long sigh, the doctor thought about how to best broach that subject.

“I can see the wheels in your head turning,” Sara said, side-eyeing Lexi carefully. “How much time have you got?”    


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got this chapter for you and another in the works! Stay tuned! 
> 
> Thank you, literally everyone, for the kudos and comments! All the love motivates me to keep this story moving, and I'm grateful for the love! Y'all are the best!

Lexi stole a glance at her omni-tool, pretending to be surprised by the time. It was hard to refuse such a tempting offer—but she’d already apologized once that day for forcing uncomfortable conversation, there was no need to make it twice.  If Sara wasn’t ready to talk about Alec that morning, she certainly wasn’t ready now, even with some daylight between them.   _Forcing it would only make things worse_ , she silently reassured herself.

And Sara had been level-headed in handling Cora, a vast improvement from their initial screaming matches across the hull. She’d even been fair to Alec, another step in right direction.  Lexi consider that she might venture to call Sara “well adjusted,” if she hadn’t known better.  She was stoic enough when it came to her emotions, carefully sealing them away: the delivery, or rather the misdirection, regarding them might be lively and often-times humorous, but Lexi didn’t confuse the two.

But in tabling that conversation, one Lexi assumed would merit equal parts sympathy and tough love, her nagging suspicion grew.  There was more buried underneath than what Sara was letting on, but it’d come out soon enough, when she was ready.  

“Not nearly enough, I think,” Lexi sighed in “happy” resignation, a mix of forced saccharine and troubled thoughts. “It’s getting late.”

Lexi rose to go, smoothing out the blankets underneath her, removing any trace of her presence—the way she ultimately liked to leave her patients.  As she rounded the foot of the bed, Lexi watched as Sara sank farther down into the mattress, nearly absorbed by it.  Sara wore the burden of weariness like wet laundry, she thought—every single muscle giving in to the pull of gravity, cold and uncomfortable, and her eyes were cavernous over purpled creases until her eyelids followed her slowing breath, gently sloping downward toward oblivion.

“Promise me you’ll take better care of yourself, okay?” Lexi asked before turning at the door for a final goodnight, but Sara had already fallen asleep.  Perhaps it was better that she had—she knew that Sara hated pity more than anything else.

As her fingers danced over her omni-tool, the lights in Sara’s room dimmed down to total darkness.  Lexi caught one final glance of Sara, her body laid out long and still in the shadows of her room so that only her silhouette was visible against the starlight of space.

 _Something like a remnant vault in her own right_ , Lexi thought before door closed. _Or a corpse_.

\-----

Sara awoke the next morning, glad of the foresight to make the most of her appearance before bed. She’d snoozed her alarm twice in the hopes of feeling more alert, _better_ , but to little avail. As she stumbled blearily out of bed, she ran a hand down the front of her face as if wipe away the residual exhaustion before pulling on her field armor and stepping into her boots.   _Face it, kid_ , she thought, eyeing herself in the mirror as she swept her hair quickly up into a messy chignon, _mornings never get any easier._

It took nearly four successive cups of coffee— _big ones_ —piled high with tons of sugar, to motivate her any further out the door. She’d slept silent like the grave, solid and uninterrupted for a good handful of hours, but her fight with Cora still weighed on her. She didn’t want to be the bad guy, but more and more she seemed suited to it. Even with limited interaction with the exiles, Sara saw people who needed help where the Initiative saw hardened, mutinous criminals.  Where should she draw the line?

The thought lingered through the morning as the Tempest touched down on Kadara and throughout the drive to the nav point Vehn Terev had supplied them. As she urged the Nomad forward through the planet’s mountain ranges, stories of her father’s childhood in the Sierra Nevadas panned through her mind as if to taunt her—she was no explorer, certainly not like her father, and Kadara lacked the snow that gave California’s mountains such grandeur: all the more reason for Alec to be disappointed. It tugged at her today more than ever, her usual gusto for the Nomad having dampened with it.

“You all right?”  Liam poked his head up between the front seats.  “You’re not driving us off a cliff today, Ryder—hope you’re not getting sick.”

“I’d be better if you minded your own business,” Sara shot back with a smile.  How had she gotten so lucky that the rotation gave her both Liam and Cora today, she couldn’t guess.  Separately, they were perfectly tolerable.  Together, she could barely get them to focus, let alone ease up on the wisecracks.

“Like our lives aren’t our business,” Cora added. Sara gauged Cora out of her periphery while keeping her eyes decidedly trained on the terrain.  Her tone suggested a good-natured jab, a bit goofy and definitely too cheerful for Cora’s more well-aimed assaults, but Sara needed to see her face to be certain.  Sure enough, the little smile that rested at Cora’s lips was sign enough that Sara had been forgiven—for last night’s tiff, anyway.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Sara grinned, her foot pressing metal against metal as her teammates groaned. As the Nomad hit optimal speed with a little added boost, she’d caught just enough force to whip it around in a perfect circle—she pulled the emergency brake and held the steering wheel in place, letting the Nomad spin, kicking up an impressive halo of dust. “Anybody dead yet?”  After the colorful remarks about Sara’s driving subsided, the Nomad continued toward the transponder’s location.

When they arrived, Sara thought for a split second that maybe her luck had changed. The transponder was in close range of where Vehn said he’d left it, and Liam had no issues exhuming it—but the tech appeared to be just thrown into a shallow hole with dirt swept over it; beyond the mess, it still looked rugged, beaten up.

“The device is merely without power, Pathfinder,” SAM enunciated through the comm link, allaying Liam’s worries about the transponder’s functionality. “It should still lead us to the Archon.”

“That’s all it needs? _Plugged in_?” Sara’s stomach squirmed at the thought of being one step closer to chasing down the Archon, and she swallowed hard, her throat suddenly parched. “Well,” she sighed, her gaze pointed toward the grass under her feet. “Get it in the Nomad and ready for some of Gil’s magic.”

As Liam set to packing the transponder with an inordinate amount of care, Cora helped her scour a nearby crime scene—only mere meters away—as part of their deal with Reyes. He’d sent them to investigate a series of murders, most taking place in the port where the bodies surfaced in broad daylight. This case was a bit more secluded in an exile safe house, but Reyes seemed to think they were related and that SAM could help determine the identity of the culprit.

As they approached the safe house, Cora studied it carefully. Cora, decidedly braver than most, marched right through the front door, stopping dead in her tracks after six or seven steps.  When Cora didn’t move, Sara followed cautiously behind, wondering her hold up was—until the smell hits her nose like a thresher maw in a kissing contest. The corpse, she should have guessed, was still inside the tiny metal safe house. In direct sunlight, the little shack fancied itself an oven, its added heat decomposing the corpse faster than usual. Sara couldn’t recall anything ever smelling so rancid, but as she attempted to tame her gag reflex, she thought of Scott’s laundry after military training during his teenage years—a close second. If anything smelled worse than Scott’s week-old workout clothes, it had to be the result of some unholy alliance.

As her stomach churned in competing battles of good versus evil, Sara added more fuel to the fire with the thought of hailing Reyes.  Initiating contact with anyone made her uneasy, but the combined sensation of Reyes on a shared comm link with Cora listening in nearly made her vomit from stress alone. _Oh well_ , she thought, connecting him to their frequency, _here goes nothing_.

“Reyes, we’re at the nav point you sent.”

“ _Ryder_.” Her name floated through the air in pleasant anticipation. “Having fun?”

“Oh, _tons_ ,” Sara took the opportunity to push back a little, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. “The smell of rotting krogan really is what makes a murder investigation so special.”

“Sorry to miss it, then.”  His tone was light, but returned a sliver of her irreverence, calling up the image of his smug grin quickly to mind.  

“You do realize that I haven’t exactly agreed to help you yet, right?” She fired back, flat and a just a touch cutting.  A warning shot to test the waters.

“I feel good about my odds.” Reyes held his ground, pausing for a few seconds as if expecting further objection. When no one responded, he continued. “As it happens, I have intel on our krogan friend; goes by Zear. His frontal plate was pried off before he was shot to death.”

“That certainly explains the smell,” Cora chimed in.

“Just let me know what you find.”  

As Sara and Cora took an immediate walk around the interior perimeter, carefully avoiding the decaying krogan, Cora seemed convinced, despite Reyes’s input, that the murders were ordered by the Charlatan. Sara frowned, thinking about the kind of message that might send and to whom, but they wouldn’t know for sure without at least trying to scan their way around.

“This level of cowardice,” Cora said, pointing at the dead krogan, “is what I’d expect from someone like the Charlatan.”

“It is the best way to deal with the Outcasts, though, if they wanted to get at Sloane,” Sara justified. “A frontal assault would be stupid, but a calling card left on her doorstep?”

“I’d tend to agree,” Reyes offered smoothly, “but with less than a third of the victims being Outcasts, it doesn’t make much sense.”

“The Charlatan surely has objections with other politicized groups, like the Angara,” Cora urged, continuing her implication of the Collective’s leader. “Not just the Outcasts.”

“Probably, but I imagine we’ll get farther by examining evidence over _talking_ about it.”

Reyes bristled at Cora’s insistence—a reaction Sara had yet to experience with him.  As she started scanning around the room, she wondered whether his annoyance stemmed from the difference in opinion or their inability, as of yet, to follow his directions.  Either way, it amused her: he was too self-satisfied for his own good, and she didn’t mind hearing someone tell Cora she was wrong, either.

The scanner picked up all manner of things in the safe house--most notably bloodied footprints that someone had carefully tried to wash away.  At least three separate sets of them, from what she could tell. Reyes encouraged her to keep scanning, her discovery validating his Roekkar theory. After a bit, Sara wasn’t sure there was much else to find, aside from a frying pan-made-weapon and some empty lockers, but she scanned the krogan corpse to be sure.

“There’s angaran blood on the krogan,” she announced triumphantly.  With each time that Reyes proved himself right, Sara felt better about their partnership. She wanted to be helpful, to help the Exiles, and preventing murders felt like a really good place to start--if the blame was put in the right place. “I think Reyes might be right.”

“Blood does not infer political affiliation, Pathfinder,” SAM chided her with an air of superiority, as if she should have known better than to make such a leap.  “Perhaps there’s still more telling evidence to be found."

“What about the footprints?” Sara pressed, thinking of what could be left to scan that she hadn’t already. “Want to see where they go?”

“Worth a shot,” Cora answered in a half sigh, rubbing her temples in slow circles.  This was becoming a dead end and quickly.

Sara scanned the footprints again, following them toward the door.  When the door opened initially, the footprints lead down the metal ramp and into the grass where they disappeared.  She spent a good half an hour searching the grass for any sign at all, but it turned up nothing.  It was only when Cora called her back toward the safe house that she caught a glint of metal in the sunlight--which turned out to be a ceremonial knife, probably dropped by the killer in a rush to vacate the premises.  All it took was one quick message to Jaal to figure out that it was Roekkar-made.

Reyes had been right after all.

“Naturally. What did you expect?” Reyes affirmed, his smugness returning in full force, before pausing again.  Sara wondered what he was up to that he kept dipping in an out of conversation--she imagined him in Tartarus with his feet up on a table, drink in hand.  But knowing Reyes, who could tell?

“Ryder,” he returned after a handful of seconds, his conceit transforming into urgency. “I need you to meet me at the Roekkar hideout.  I’m sending the coordinates now.”

“Like this instant?”  She hadn’t meant it to come out like it did, like a child being asked to clean their room. _Too late to take it back now_ , she thought, wondering what kind of reaction she’d get if Cora had annoyed him by simply asking questions.  

“I have actually been doing things, you know,” he said, the irritation peeking through, not even half of the attitude he gave to Cora. “Do you think I sit on my ass all day? I’m staring at the place right now.”

“Still haven’t agreed to help you,” Sara offered breathily.  She could almost feel him grinding his teeth through the comm, bringing a little grin to her face as she wondered how he was about to take frustration in person.  

The channel went silent again until Reyes sighed as if his pride had just been hit by lightning and he was assessing the horrific damages.

“Please?” The word came out not in annoyance or forced, but soft, as though he had to work himself up to asking.  She’d give him that--he didn’t need to beg her--but she’d at least consider making him learn a lesson in biting helping hands.

But not today.


	8. Chapter 8

“ _Fine_.”

The word flitted through the comm in a breath, more exhale than actual voice, his mind piecing it apart while his hands kept busy amid a pile of wires and explosives.  Her tone read more chiffon than sandpaper, perhaps a result of the little nudge he’d given her. _That_ was overkill, he knew, for show—a likely cause for her own response.   _Oh, the things we do when people are watching_ , he sighed to himself, staring pointedly at the mess of wires in his lap.

His sigh fused into a smile, one that he absent-mindedly carried through the very involved process of rigging explosives. He _really_ had been busy: scouting out the roekkar headquarters, fencing untraceable materials to actually build the stuff, determining precise points where detonation would take out the most enemies without destroying supplies or blocking the exit, and now, setting up the damned things. Normally, each part of this operation would’ve been carefully sourced through at least three different operatives, all from different contacts—but this job called for a bit more panache than most. And certainly there was no one better for it.

From a glance at the murders as they occurred in the port, Reyes had been certain from the first that the Roekkar were responsible. But he also had to convince the Pathfinder—a woman best persuaded by coming to her own conclusions. Luckily, the Roekkar had finally gotten sloppy, which provided a great distraction for her while he got his hands dirty.  And a little good timing for Reyes never went unpunished.

He'd surprised himself, though, at how well he could verbally walk her through a crime scene while programming the detonation devices—it was a _very_ timed, regimented process, one that would require every ounce of his concentration to get exactly right. Helping her arrive at the desired conclusion wasn’t exactly hard: the evidence spoke for itself. It was dodging those nagging questions about the Charlatan that caused hiccups.

His hands and mind needed to be trained to the task before him, but his mouth he could leave unattended. Mentions of the Charlatan, however, forced him to double back and think around direct addresses that could raise suspicions, especially if there was anyone else listening in. This wasted both time and concentration, precious commodities that the moment desperately called for, but Reyes always had been good at covering his tracks.

And If it came down to dying in an explosion or having to deal with anything related to the Charlatan, it didn’t really matter.  The two would work out to about the same end, he figured.

The delay Ryder inadvertently caused, however, meant he’d have to move faster while he waited on her to arrive. If the plan was to meet her inside, he had about five or so minutes to wrap everything up, run diagnostics, punch in the keycode for detonation, and get in position. He ran the math in his head again as he connected the last explosive to the chain.  After admiring his handiwork for a split second, he worked to initiate diagnostics, staring intently at his omni-tool, watching the homemade bombs activate in excruciating indifference to his time quandry, one at a time.    

_Move faster, you lazy piece of—_

In an instant, the sound of mechanical humming emerged from the opposite side of the rock face, freezing him solidly in place. His breath suspended perfectly still inside his chest, his eyes glued to his omni-tool— _only half of the explosives were active_. The hum grew close to a roar before cutting abruptly short in a low grumble, and he let out a long rushing breath as his heart bottomed out at top speed: an engine that obnoxious could only belong to the Pathfinder. _She would be early, damn it_ , he cursed to himself.

“Shouldn’t Reyes be here by now?”

The sound of her voice barely carried over precipice and down to where he’d been working at the rear of the roekkar facility. The revelation that she wasn’t an angara about to kill him should’ve been relieving, but it only pushed him more toward base reactions in the face of imminent danger.  He could either warn her and risk bodily harm or worse—from being blown to bits or from being overpowered by Roekkar, depending on how moody his makeshift detonator was feeling—or he could sit pretty and show up casually late to the party in the hope that Ryder could handle herself in the meantime. Since the Roekkar heavily outnumbered them, at least ten to one from what he could tell during reconnaissance, he figured she’d likely have to.

“She _better_ appreciate this,” he muttered, fingers poised to enter the detonation sequence.  He listened for gunfire as he waited with bated breath, watching the last five percent clock down to his final cue.

\----

“And you don’t think it’s curious at all that the murder was so close to the transponder? Not at all planned?”

Cora had a point—the two sites were less than a good stone’s throw away from each other. If Reyes was right, if the Roekkar were responsible for the murder, it’d at least make good sense. Vehn betrayed Evfra and the Moshae, after all, and the Roekkar had no love for either of them by the sounds of it. But the placement of these sites _did_ feel contrived, as if someone had tried too hard to put them this close together. All things considered, though, she wasn’t about to complain about the added help until she needed to.

 _Especially_ if that help came from a certain smuggler. Though maybe that was all the more reason to be wary, she hadn’t decided yet.

“I try not to judge people.” Sara squinted as she drove toward Reyes’s coordinates, the sun shining directly in her eyes. “At least not until they give me a real reason to.”

“Fair enough.” Cora raised a hand to block the sun from her eyes as she surveyed the horizon ahead of them. Sara could just make her out her features through her periphery, a shadow immersed in a blast of bright white light. Maybe Cora had learned her lesson after all, even if she did have to figure it out by working her way through the Ryder’s first.

“Was that leeway you just gave me?” Sara asked, the irreverent confusion in her voice breaking through Cora’s initial line of defense.

“ _Shut up, Ryder_.”

“Aww,” Sara clapped Cora hard on the upper arm, giving it a good shake upon impact. “It’s just like Ryder family Christmas, all over again.”

Cora grumbled something under her breath that Sara couldn’t quite make out, but it made Sara smile anyway.   _Little victories,_ she reminded herself.   _Little victories_.

It took less time to race across Kadara than Sara thought—partly in thanks to her newfound “shortcuts” and improvements to the nomad. The nomad was the only thing tied to the Tempest that Gil let her touch with impunity, so she’d taken it upon herself to develop and install all the necessities—advanced life support, defensive fortification, and improved shield regeneration. But Eos had presented her with the _mighty_ need to drive that rolling tank directly up a cliff at ninety degrees. She’d put in the best rear fuel injection booster the Initiative could finance, increased the capacity for boost fluid exponentially, and expanded the booster chambers to extend how far and fast she could push the nomad.  Simply put, it flew up cliffs with such relative ease that it made most of the crew a bit more than anxious.

When they arrived, Sara found herself less proud of her talent as a mechanic and more concerned with where the hell Reyes had gone. The area outside the nav point was a total ghost town, scattered with open crates throughout the grass around the front entry, and while she hadn’t known what to expect, Reyes implied he was a part of that bargain.

“Shouldn’t Reyes be here by now?”  The words came out in a pathetic mixture of worry and confusion.

“Maybe he’s inside already,” Cora offered quietly, assessing their surroundings for any sign of life. “It looks pretty dead out here.”

“Maybe,” Sara echoed, not feeling very confident.  Judging by the night prior, he’d have already made himself known if he was off lurking somewhere, waiting for her to show up. Something about this didn’t feel right.

The mild anxiety that thrummed through her nerves collected into bottomless unrest in her stomach as the front door opened without the slightest probing.  Amid more stacks of shipping crates, Sara found nothing more waiting inside than the cool dampness of underground caves.

“Reyes should _be here_ by now,” Sara blurted out, her eyes darting around the room in case she’d missed something, any sign of him. She shook her head through the nervousness as her internal sense of danger heightened from normal complications to sirens blazing.  What if something happened, and they were too late?

“Keep it in your pants, Ryder. Or out of them. _Whatever_.”

“ _That’s not_ —“

She’d suddenly realized it’d been too much to hope that the hideout was abandoned, or that Liam’s little outburst would go unnoticed. Sure enough, with the sudden and rather pronounced enunciation of his masculine bravado, roekkar operatives had snuck up on them. There wasn’t much to do except go with it, talk her way into seeing if they’d captured Reyes, and decide from there.  _Not my proudest moment, but it’ll do,_ she thought as the biggest of their capturers pushed her down the stairwell into the caves. They were carted farther and farther down into the middle of the complex—a surprisingly large one considering the outward-facing building was so small—sandwiched between a raised platform leading off to somewhere she couldn’t quite see and the soldier barracks.

As the trio stopped, Liam and Cora gridlocked right behind Sara, another angara approached them. She had a look of daunting rage about her, steeped in that deep and unadulterated hatred the Roekkar were famous for, and Sara thought to tread carefully. If she’d learned anything, negotiating with anyone even remotely as blindly intense in their beliefs as the Roekkar never, ever went smoothly.  

And all the while, Sara tried her best to maintain eye contact as the angara marched toward them with a sense of purpose and urgency, only diverting them for a second to calmly scan for Reyes.   _This must be their leader, Farah,_ Sara judged from the way the other roekkar revered her as she passed, lowering their gazes, she guessed, in respect. She’d read about Farah in her reports, and the accounts of astounding bigotry notwithstanding, Sara felt a twinge of guilt pass through her.

“I don’t need to tell you what happens next,” Farah announced, staring Sara straight in the eye. Farah seemed to tower over her, but Sara stood deathly calm, unmoved. She couldn’t let anyone sense her fear—she could do this.

“Settle down,” Sara said, manifesting a picture of relaxed indifference from the forest fire of nerves in her gut. “We only came to talk.”

Sara knew that was a lie, and she’d only felt guiltier in telling it. When Reyes asked to meet her specifically here, she knew it could only mean one thing.  She didn’t relish the fact that, one way or another, these people were about to become adhi food, but lying somehow made it feel worse. This, at least, would give her time to strategize—and whatever got them out with less casualties to her crew was the best she could do at this point.

“We don’t talk with outsiders,” Farah countered, pulling out a ceremonial knife from the holster at her waist—a perfect twin to the one they’d found at the murder scene. “You’ll bleed just like the others.”

 _Just like the others._ The phrased bounced around between her ears for a second before her mind could process it—Reyes was right after all. She sucked in enough of her lower lip to press lightly between her teeth until she could figure out how to assess if Reyes was included with “the others” the angara had mentioned.

“So, _it’s true_ ,” Sara pressed, the heat peeking through her own voice. “You murdered innocent people.”

“Invaders and sympathizers are not innocent.  I will _protect_ my home.”

Sara might have laughed at the irony if the situation wasn’t so dire.  The Roekkar were dying to protect their home and everyone from the Milky Way was dying to find a new one.  She had to hand it to them, though, at least the Roekkar had the guts to stand their ground. And ground to stand on.  That was more than she could say for most of the Initiative’s leadership.

But, as far as she could tell, Sara hadn’t even nodded in Sloane Kelly’s direction, the way that had most people murdered or extorted, let alone sympathized with her. The thought made her blood boil, that so much of Sloane’s prideful, arrogant war-mongering had led to such hostility that it further divided the Angara. They were striking out at everyone they could, murdering people. It made the Roekkar no better than Sloane, and the guilt of lying all but vanished in the face of certain death.

“Like it or not, we’re here to stay,” Sara spat, her hand slowly moving for the gun she knew would do the most damage. Her chance to talk things through was making a quick exit, and if she had to make her way out through a pile of corpses, she’d take as many out as got in her way.  “You can’t kill all of us.”

“ _I can try_.”

Farah raised the knife in a flash as the other roekkar soldiers had their guns focused on Sara, Liam, and Cora—Sara could feel the beads of sweat beginning to gather above her eyebrows. Suddenly, a single shot rang out, echoing against the sound of metal clashing against metal, and the knife flew from Farah’s hand with a pained shriek. Every head turned to the origin point of the shot, where Reyes bolted down from the platform, his finger still hot on the trigger.

“ _You’re late_ ,” Sara fumed at him, the threat of impending death still coursing through her entire body.

“I’ve got a good reason,” he reassured her, a bit too happily among the threat of open fire, with a smirk.  “You’ll see in three…”

“Don’t just stand there,” Farah shouted to the operatives around her, commencing a battle royale that sent her soldiers to their vantage points—a move Reyes had counted on.  He swelled with pride as they moved into position like little marching ants.

“Two…” his smile widened.

“Kill them!” Farah screamed as her agents opened fire.  Liam countered, trying to pick off the snipers, while Cora worked up a biotic shield that surrounded them long enough for Sara to fumble for her gun. Bullets pinged off the shield like an all-out hail storm until Reyes’s surprise ripped through the cave wall with enough force to blast them into the atmosphere.

Cora’s shield held together just long enough to divert the force of the blast and for Sara to take in the view. They were actual fireworks— _indoor fireworks_ —all colors and sparks leaping out in all directions for one brief moment. Sara might have even commented on their beauty had the intent not been so insidious. As she glanced around at the aftermath, the blast had cleared the vast majority of the Roekkar, burying them under a massive rockslide.

“Still mad?” Reyes’s smile kept, as smug as ever. By all rights, Sara knew she probably should be _mad_ —the smarmy satisfaction radiating from him was enough to make her want to punch him square in the jaw.  But he had saved them, all of them.  And that’s what mattered. Being a show off was apparently just part of his M.O.

She shook her head with a small chuckle, the stars from the explosion still bright in her eyes. His little show had definitely boosted morale, putting her squarely in the zone, admittedly the neatest thing she’d ever experienced in person—like one of Scott’s Blasto vids but _right in front of her face_.  It made her feel ten feet tall and incredibly bulletproof, like she could do just about anything.

Taking down the Roekkar was easy, thanks to Reyes. He watched as Sara dove forward into a low roll, gunning down Farah with a spray of ammunition from what looked like—he blinked twice, _hard_ —an N7 Piranha.  A gun that big on a frame that tiny would’ve been downright cartoony on anyone else, but even with Ryder clocking in at not quite 165 centimeters, she was eons away from silly-looking. _She was breathtaking_.

She made crowd control look like pure magic. _Effortless._ She plowed down angara in a haze of lightning-fast pellets and crimson cloudbursts, littering the parts left attached to their corpses with holes. Anything that didn’t miraculously manage to hold on was obliterated into meat paste. She was at such close range he almost thought she might be a bit out of her element, but she somehow managed to dodge bullets like a champion even as her reaction time slowed by a fraction of a second, amped up on spiking adrenaline. She was graceful, moving with exact precision, even in the middle of a fight—certainly more capable than he’d ever have given her credit for.

As she dodged enemy fire, the Roekkar had finally degraded her shields enough where a bullet slipped past as she ducked for cover, bouncing off her arm without piercing her armor. Reyes sucked a quick breath through his teeth, hissing in response to the mark it’d leave in its stead, he knew, but Sara didn’t even flinch—she just kept firing back.

“ _A little help here?!_ ” Sara all but yelled back at him over her shoulder.

He shook himself loose from his shameless voyeurism, not even slightly embarrassed about being blatantly caught gawking. He could’ve faked an apology if he’d wanted, but he’d only get caught again, he justified silently as he rose, aiming just over the Pathfinder’s head. With a little grin, he happily obliged, finally knocking out a few roekkar.  He calculated five shots in very quick succession, each hitting its mark with profound accuracy as Liam picked off the last of the stragglers.

“Glad you could join us,” Sara called over the massacre they’d jointly created, a garbage heap of rubble and bodies.

“Looks like you won’t need me next time,” he mused, still rather impressed that she could hold up that gun at all, let alone steady it in a fight.  “You’re like the world’s tiniest krogan.”

“Says the guy who set off super mutant fireworks _inside_ ,” Sara said, hoping that she’d worked up enough of a sweat to cover the blush creeping to her cheeks.  She approached him with as much finesse as she could gather, stepping daintily over the deeper puddles of blood at her boots until she was next to him, sending him an all-too-knowing glance as she glided past.  “And _no_ short jokes.”

“I would never intentionally stoop so low,” he offered playfully, following her and her crew toward the exit. As Liam laughed, jumping on the pun bandwagon, Reyes took the opportunity for one last glance around, making a mental note to send a few agents in to pick up the more notable supplies and cargo. Then, this place could be razed properly into ashes, and no one would be any wiser.  

“I think he’s trying to short change you, Ryder,” Liam managed between fits of laughter as they climbed the stairs toward the exit before regrouping. “Maybe he doesn’t appreciate the little things.”

What Reyes might have taken as a little jab between friends in any other case struck him as an egregious error in judgment.  He didn’t mind being made an object for entertainment—he did well enough at that on his own—but he could see Sara’s left eye twitch with each remark.  And when her lips pursed into a tight, red knot, he waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Har har.” Sara’s bluntness emerged without hesitation—she could take it from Reyes and give it back just fine. But with Liam it felt deliberate and disrespectful, and she couldn’t figure out why; he knew better. She could feel a lightning storm rolling in her chest, the thunder growling between her ears.  _And in front of Reyes, too. How cruel_ , she thought, the joking subtly breeding into bad blood. “ _Very_ funny.”

“No, I mean it,” Liam continued, still howling. “You’re so down-to-earth, Ryder. Get it? _Down-to—_ ”  
  
Before Liam could finish, Cora punched him flat on the upper arm with just _a little_ kiss of biotics behind it.  It was enough to push Liam off balance, but boy, didn’t he come right back with arms outstretched, flailing wildly. And all at once, the residual tiredness hit Sara, the caffeine and adrenaline fully wearing off along with her tolerance for her crew—she’d finally had enough.  

“Outside you two,” Sara turned, snapping at Liam and Cora as though they were rampaging toddlers, before pointing toward the door.  “ _Now_.”

Liam went to open his mouth in protest, but Cora grabbed him by the elbow with a firm tug, dragging him vigorously away from Sara—he only had to be forcefully yanked halfway to the door before he gave in, letting Cora just pull him along without a fight. Sara took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest in frustration while Reyes casually looked over her shoulder, watching Liam glower back at him until the door obscured his view.

They stood together for a moment, saying nothing. Sara was mortified that her crew were busy being children in front of anyone, let alone a business contact—probably the best description for what Reyes was. And even _she_ had enough sense to not act like a total ass in front of people the first time she met them. Exasperation filled all of the available space inside her, pushing everything out of her brain except the charred parts that hurt—the place where her pride in her work, in her _team_ coexisted with her role as Pathfinder, as Alec Ryder in training. They’d all been thrown together, sandwiched between the Kett and the scourge, but she was still their leader. _No one would’ve talked to Dad that way_ , the thought blew through her mind, stirring up the gale of hotness into her cheeks. The heat steamed off of her, rolling out from under every little gap in her armor, as her eyes focused solely on the ground.  

And Reyes, he found himself _finally_ at a loss for something to say.  It stung to watch her shut down so easily by her own people, and it didn’t particularly make him feel great, either, knowing that he was responsible. It was good, at least, that she was setting boundaries—little ones that he obtrusively crossed without thinking, but boundaries nonetheless. It meant that his plan was working; he just needed to pay closer attention.  She was trickier than most, this Pathfinder.

“Well, the streets of Kadara are safe again. You did _good_ , Ryder,” he started, his voice subdued at first before warming into something coyer, not quite praise and not quite flirting. He could see her fuming, but the affirmation seemed to grab her attention and relax her a touch—he didn’t know whether to be happy or heartbroken that all it took was something kind, not even articulate or eloquent, to start smoothing things over. When she looked up, acknowledging him with a little smile, he knew he could push a little farther, though the weird feeling remained.  “Don’t worry, I’ll let all the important people know who to thank.”

“We make a good team,” she agreed quietly with a gentle nod.    

“ _Careful_ , Ryder,” he teased her through a soft chuckle, an attempt to make her smile widen. “I might start thinking you like me.”

“Would that be so bad?"

The corners of her mouth flickered upward lazily, and he wondered at her for a second.  Her words lacked the intrigue he’d perhaps too quickly associated her with.  It was still there—he could hear it buried in there somewhere. But this was something else entirely, even if he couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly. 

But he planned to find out, and the best way of doing that was to stay in control of the situation.  For now, that meant watching and learning—and keeping her crew out of things if he could.

“That all depends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's starting to get real folks! Keep an eye out for the next chapter, coming soon!
> 
> Feel free to comment and let me know what you think! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another really long chapter for you! Note that this chapter holds canon divergence--my way of filling in the gaps of the story and interactions we get in-game. As always, your feedback is incredibly appreciated (I basically frame it, seriously), and I'd love to know what you think of their little excursion in the nomad. Enjoy!

He slid toward the door faster than she could react, another question already full loaded on her lips. As soon as she was close enough to get his attention, to touch him, the door slipped open with a faint buzzing, and she lost her nerve to the strange scene outside.

When the pair emerged onto the narrow landing outside, they found Liam and Cora standing at the bottom of the stairs, square in the middle of some grudge match staring contest—their eyes locked on the other’s in what resembled bitter resentment, and Sara wondered what she’d missed by staying inside. She quietly thanked whatever higher power could hear that neither one of them had laser vision. At this rate, her crew was going to implode and probably soon.

She glanced up at Reyes, as wryness spread across his features.  _At least someone thinks this is funny_ , she thought for a split second before he jetted off for the grass, blazing between Cora and Liam as he hit the bottom of the stairs. Her nose wrinkled upward slightly as her brows knit in surprise, but it waned away quickly when she watched him dodge crates to get a closer look at the nomad. She admired him in a kind of pleasant haze as his face lit up into something more boyish than the rugged man she knew—there was an enthusiasm, a spark of wonder about him. _Something real._

As he coasted through the patchy grass toward the nomad—a golden beauty, the paragon of engineering and elbow grease—Reyes’s jaw dropped when he was close enough to really see the pristine, reflective paint, and his mind wondered vaguely whether or not he could feel it actually dragging along in the dirt as he moved. He could see his face in the nomad, every single pore, and he wondered what other little joys it held as he charted a circle around it, searching every angle from the fender to the wiper blades.

Sara continued to look on, her eyes following him in blithe amusement as he rounded the nomad two more times, his expression as bright and curious the third time around as it was the first. It kindled a small rush of satisfaction inside her, one she desperately wanted to share—she’d finally done something right all on her own, _Alec Ryder be damned_.

Sara moved to skim between her crewmates, dipping below their still scorching gazes—she would unpack that later, with the whole crew present. But in that second, what she was most interested in was how to leverage this tiny twist to her advantage, if only for a little fun.  It took very little effort, as she made up the distance between them, to conjure up a number of ideas with remarkable swiftness—some more suggestive than others.

“So, what do you think?” Sara asked quietly as she closed in behind him, blending seamlessly into his slowing orbit. “I call him Midas, an homage to the paint job.”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The awe in his voice flipped a long forgotten switch inside her.  She hardly ever had opportunities to talk actual shop without the added bonus of Gil and Kallo _constantly_ bickering—it’d been years since she’d been able to build anything worth talking about. True, she hadn’t built the nomad herself, but her hands were on any improvement from the base model—which included just about everything, she figured, recalling all the sleepless nights she poured into it since Eos.  

“I jacked it up myself,” she beamed bright in the reflection of the sun, the nomad casting her in the glow of fading afternoon. “It’s got top of the line boosters, a real swanky rear fuel injector….” She paused for a second, rather enjoying the fact that his eyes were still searching the nomad, stuck to it. “I even managed to work in a prototype agility mode. _The works_.”

“You overrode the…” he trailed off, entranced in total amazement of that gorgeous little slice of vehicular heaven.  And a little bit humbled by her, too, if he had to be honest. It wasn’t every day he met someone who was a boss mechanic, an absolute threat on the battlefield, _and_ easy on the eyes. Maybe he’d get one of these in a mark where their work relationship tended toward the personal more than the professional, or _two_ if he was lucky, and it made him wonder what else there was to unwrap.

“Want to go for a ride?”

He thought the vertebrae in his neck might have snapped for how quickly his head turned. His gaze zipped between her and the Nomad several times in quick repetition before he could verbally agree. With endorphins through the roof, his excitement reached its zenith, and he was barely able to contain the unbridled delight surging through him by way of internal screaming. Reyes could feel the six hundred years between him and the last time he’d witnessed anything as genius as the nomad truly _perform—_ Initiative shuttles weren’t overly flashy pieces of equipment. They _flew_ , but they didn’t have any spirit.  The nomad, however, promised spirit in droves, silently beckoning him to climb in and see.

“I thought you'd never ask.” He finally turned his attention to her fully, all too glad to return her hospitality with mischievous grin until his omni-tool vibrated at his forearm.   _Messages, great_ , he sighed to himself through a shade of biting sarcasm, wondering what disaster awaited him upon opening. The equipment at his arm shuddered again, another push into the unknown. After a few seconds, his imagination got the better of him. “I’ll just need a second.”  

“No problem,” Sara returned, remembering Liam and Cora just behind her, still silent as stone. “I need to....” she shot a glance back at the pair scowling on either side of the stairway railing.  “Take care of whatever that is.”

“Guess you better get to it, then.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, causing his lips to draw inward in conceit— _God, he’s infuriating_ , she thought, drawing up whatever strength she could before forcing herself toward Liam and Cora. She made the few paces back to them in firm determination— _they_ were going back to the Tempest and she was going to have fun, damn it. At least, that’s what she intended to tell them.

When she approached them, she waited momentarily for one of them to say something.  After a beat, both side-eyed her, perhaps waiting for her to scold _them_ , but Sara looked calmly from one to the other and continued to wait.  After a deep breath, she figured it was now or never if they weren’t going to budge.

“Reyes and I are taking the nomad for a drive. _You_ ,” she said sternly, looking them each directly in the eye, one after the other, “are going back to the Tempest to think about what you did.”

At first they pushed back, firing off a laundry list of questions.  First of all, _why_?  Secondly, did she have absolutely _zero_ concern for her safety?  Sara had thought the answer to that was hilariously obvious, but she kept that observation to herself.  What if something happened?  What if the Tempest exploded and she wasn’t there to save them?  What if _she_ blew up and they weren’t there to save her?

“Guys, I’ve got this,” Sara looked back over her shoulder, keeping her voice as quiet as possible.  Reyes was fighting a similar battle through his own comm, nearly pacing a rut along the driver’s side of the nomad, and for whatever reason, it made her feel a bit better.  “I can take care of myself. And I’ll be _safe,_ I promise.  I just want to get to know our friend a bit better.”

“ _I bet_ ,” Liam dug at her, his tone as sharp as a nail gun before dwindling down into his usual low key prodding, muddled with a little extra sulking. “You’re not going to let _him_ drive, are you?”

 _Of course,_ Sara rationalized, the voice in her head rife with sardonic realization, _because the only evil worse than stepping out with Reyes would conceivably be letting him drive the nomad. Oh, the horror._

As she rolled her eyes at Liam, Sara noticed that Cora was gone, off like a shot for the nomad. Both Liam and Sara watched as a look of sheer terror dawned across Reyes, his entire body shrinking away from the oncoming storm—and Sara could only picture what Cora’s face had to look like in order for that to happen. It was adorable, equally as endearing as she’d considered him earlier, and she waited for things to unravel with Cora short on patience, interrupting Reyes’s call—she got within centimeters, patrolling right on up to him without a breath left between them.

“I swear,” Cora issued the threat with the intent to drill right through him, “if she comes back with one single hair out of place. I _will_ kill you.”  Sara moved to catch a glimpse of Cora’s face, her expression terrifyingly calm—but she saw Cora’s hand shake at her side while the other jammed an index finger into his chest.  “You don’t want to know me like that, understand?”

“ _Understood_ ,” he exhaled, his muscles visibly relaxing as Cora stepped back. She nodded, satisfied with his answer, before stomping back over to Liam, and Reyes shot Sara a look over her shoulder that asked if Cora was altogether sane.  Sara simply shrugged—she wasn’t totally sure, herself.

 _SAM?_ Sara asked cheerfully in thought, making her way back to the nomad. _Can you ask Kallo to bring the Tempest around for Cora and Liam, quickly?  Tell him I’ll signal again when I’m ready with the nomad._

 _Are you sure, Pathfinder?_ SAM’s voice echoed through her mind, perhaps in regard to the mounting tension between the crew or Reyes’s immediate presence.

 _Trust me, will you?  I’ll be fine_ , she thought back.

_Consider it done._

The thought of leaving two of her teammates, especially the ones she’d known the longest, at the scene of a massacre seemed a touch unwise in light of SAM’s question—someone in the Badlands would’ve surely heard or _felt_ the reverberation from the explosion, drawing attention to their precise coordinates.  But if she knew anything about Kallo, he’d get there in no time.

When she approached Reyes, he had brushed off most of Cora’s attack but still wore a bit of the brunt in the way he stood, his back overly tight, even as he leaned back against the side of the nomad. She smiled, walking past him to round the back of the vehicle before popping the automatic lock. She opened the passenger’s side door to release any built up heat, and pulled at the tie in her hair, shaking it loose into long waves, as she crawled inside.

“Are we going or what?” she asked too loudly, a smile already growing at her cheeks. She had a great view of Liam, whose face burst with unmitigated annoyance as Cora extended an arm to hold him back—and maybe rightly so.  Reyes would be the first person ever, aside from Sara, to drive the nomad. Maybe it _was_ a risky move, but she didn’t care.

Suddenly the driver’s side door opened, with some hesitation at first. As Reyes looked in, he saw her waiting for him, realizing what it meant. This was going to be _fun_ , more than he’d anticipated—a worthy reward for all of his effort invested into ending the Roekkar murder spree. He climbed in, unable to keep himself from fidgeting in excitement as she handed him the keys. Without a word, he dove in and the engine roared into life, the floor almost rippling from the nomad’s inane amount of power. Reyes looked more than well pleased, easing it forward until he got a feel for the handling. _Brakes are touchy_ , he thought to himself, _but otherwise good_.  He drove it normally, _routinely_ , for a few minutes, just so floored at enjoying himself that he’d almost forgotten about the episode with Cora, and maybe Sara, too, for a brief moment.

“So, you had to cancel plans?”

“I was going to meet up with a friend, but _this_ ,” he articulated with distinct pleasure, “this is better.” As he continued to get comfortable behind the wheel, she watched him test the steering, the brakes, all of its bits and bobs like someone with a real interest in how things work.  “And those two, are we just leaving them here for dead?”

 _A friend, huh?_ She wondered if that’s the word he’d use to describe her in conversation. She thought it probably was, having only been acquainted for less than 48 hours. It didn’t really feel like any of her other friendships, but then, those were all more or less unique, too.   _Better not think about it._

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Sara’s voice was dipped in sarcasm, but the sentiment was too close to truth. She felt like just about the whole crew was out for her head, in different ways but for the same reason. Drack or Jaal—or both—had been talking about her behind her back, which was how this whole mess started. Soon enough she’d have to teach Suvi how to shoot, otherwise there might be no crew left alive to come out on missions if things continued in that vein.

“Is everything all right?” He noticed a little frown worrying at her, and it struck him how strong his desire was to make it go away. _Anything for a pretty face,_ he legitimized.

“Yeah, the Tempest will pick them up.  If they kill each other in the five minutes it’ll take Kallo to get them, it’s out of my hands.”

It wasn’t the answer he expected.  He might have guessed that the one time he cared to dig a bit deeper into anyone’s personal feelings, he’d be deflected with a casual observation. He figured she hadn’t meant to—maybe she was guarded, like him—and simply offered the first response that felt comfortable.  A little relief washed over him in turn.  That made things a bit easier, at least.

“Do you mind if I…”  Reyes motioned toward the windshield after a few seconds.  He’d been behaved so far, but the nomad begged to have its limits thoroughly tested, the engine groaning for a little extra kick.

Sara could barely give permission before his foot sent the accelerator to the floor, pounding the boost as hard as he could. The nomad sped off with nearly no friction whatsoever, and to Reyes it almost felt like flying. The immediate thrill of gliding at light speed over the jagged terrain—the ground barely even tickling the tires for the most part—pulled a celebratory shout from the depths of his lungs, amplified only by Sara’s incandescent laughter. She laughed with her whole body, passionately, a perception, he discovered, that held equal interest for him. His heart soared a bit, and he took the nomad for all it was worth around every treacherous corner and down every heart-stopping crevice he could find—he knew Kadara’s terrain better than he knew himself. He might have even worried about how Ryder was taking the drive if her laughter hadn’t been what pushed him to go faster.

He glanced over at her when it felt safe, as the nomad raced like a demon straight up a mountainside with no signs of giving out, and she was grabbing on to anything, _everything_ , white-knuckled and for dear life, with a smile as pretty as he’d ever seen and her eyes wide open.  Sara’s laughter, the little screams she emitted when he put the nomad to through its paces assuaged some little part of him he hadn't ever noticed aching.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he couldn’t recall a single care he’d had in the world.

He assumed Keema would understand postponing their meeting.  They got together after every job, chatted about what happened, what they could do better next time. This would be no different—he’d only had to dial down her anticipation.  As far as he concerned, there would be more to report back on later, and this was like extra credit. And from what he could make of her crew, the Pathfinder could use a break, too.  

Truth be told, it was nice to spend time with someone who wasn’t trying to have him killed—a thought he could never truly rule out with Keema, no matter how much he trusted her.

After getting his fill of death-defying tin can acrobatics, the nomad having caught more time in the air than most aircrafts, he guided the nomad up on top of a plateau he’d discovered early on in his tenure on Kadara—a place he’d once used to scout out the port before the Outcasts started evicting everyone, good and bad, into the Badlands. It was a beautiful sight, especially at this time of day, and he figured it was as good a spot as any to show her.

In another life, Kadara might have been as pretty as a postcard, he thought, if the water hadn't been total poison. Grass could barely stand to grow, and it mostly browned in small plots, never fully coming together. The mountains were nice to look at, too, if you were into that sort of thing. But the water was a real tragedy.

From the plateau, though, he could see every little lake dotting the port’s periphery, bright and crystal blue like aquamarine. They looked like the glacier lakes he’d seen in pictures, really something gorgeous, and the fading sunlight caught their waves in little shimmers, flashes of diamond, without a cloud in the sky to stop them.  He sighed, rolling the nomad to a stop, taking in the glory of the late afternoon.

As the nomad shuddered into park, Reyes looked at Sara, who was entirely transfixed by the view. She gazed at the port set just at the horizon, its neon wonders shining out in proud contentedness. He thought of all the times he’d been there on his own, doing just the same, thinking of all the promise that the port held for him—for all of them, if he could manage to do his job right.  And now he was closer than ever.

 _Thanks to her_ , he thought, his palms suddenly feeling clammy against the interior of his gloves.  

After a moment, she threw the door open, hopping out to get a better look. In the process, she began to remove her armor—piece by piece—tossing it into the backseat of the nomad without prying her eyes away from the sunset about to descend into bloom. She closed her eyes gently for a moment, setting her chestplate down at her feet, as the breeze brushed past, the influx of fresh air feeling cool even through the leather suit she’d worn underneath. When she bent down to grab the last piece of armor, her upper arm tightened—the spot where the bullet had hit her right above the elbow keening in pain.

“That’s a big _fucking_ gun,” he nodded toward the backseat, distracting her from the soreness in her arm.

“Oh, that old thing?” she peered at it resting comfortably on the upholstery, considering it with a certain sentimentality. “It’s lighter than it looks. When you’re guarding a bunch of scientists without much to do, you start tinkering with things—changing them, making them better. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good Prothean artifact as much as the next girl, but I like to take things apart to understand them. You can’t exactly do that at a dig site when you're a soldier, so I found other ways to keep myself company.”

He understood better than she knew. Kadara wasn’t much different from Mars, it sounded like—and even with as much power as he had, all he could really do was take the social structure apart and piece it back together, making it better than how he’d found it. _Wonder if I’ll have the same good luck?_ he thought absently, looking from the shotgun, to the dashboard of the nomad, and finally out at her again. At least she’d gotten good at something—an effect that could be replicated. He wasn’t sure he could say the same about himself.

As she removed the last piece of armor, down to her leather suit and boots at last, Sara remembered that the center console had been replaced with a temperature controlled cooler, stocked to the lid with beer—one of Kesh’s more inventive gifts. It was a nice thought for planets like Eos, where they’d piled it full of water to stay hydrated, but interests of the Tempest crew tended to be a bit crasser than not. Not that she ever consumed anything if she was in danger of driving.

But on pit stops like these after a big victory?   _Hell yeah,_ the away team would enjoy a round together.

“I don’t mean to alarm you,” Sara said, poking her head back into the nomad, tapping the area he’d been using as an armrest. “But the console is actually a cooler.  If you want a drink, you’re welcome to it, but get out here _already_.”

When she left, returning to the outside world, he opened the console slowly and with reverence, as if it could be full of pirate’s treasure. And she was right; it _was_ topfull of beer, obviously bootlegged but more than nicely packaged. The day kept getting better and better.

He grabbed two bottles by the neck, and they clinked together as he pushed the console shut with the tip of his elbow, opening the door with his free hand.  He closed the nomad door in the same fashion and went to join her. Sara was sitting just a bit away, cliffside, her legs dangling down from the knees into the open air below, and he stopped, standing beside her for a moment.

“You might want to wait a few seconds…your driving was—“

“My driving was _what_?” he pressed lightly, daring her to continue. There was no doubt she was either afraid of wasting or wearing the bottles’ contents, but he had some secret moves stashed away, too. He grabbed the fingertip of a glove between his teeth, yanking it off his hand before dropping it unceremoniously to the ground. Switching the bottles from one hand to another, he rolled up the sleeve on his now gloveless arm, revealing a stretch of bronze past his wrist.  He took one of the bottles, placed the cap firmly into the underside of his forearm, and slowly twisted with a practiced lightness and finesse—the bottle hissed before fizzling down without spilling a single drop. He watched the bubbles lower, spinning the bottle back a half turn before handing it to her, the cap still hanging solidly on.

She reached out to take the drink, unsure what exactly to make of it all, _of him_. On the surface, Sara surmised that he was oddly perfect, and all she could see was someone entirely too charming, funny, and clever—maybe even _compassionate_ , too, if earlier events were any sign. These were a good start at discerning the measure of a man, but everything concerning Reyes came with its own healthy serving of secrecy.  And something in her pleaded for real answers.

“Your driving is _fine_ ,” she continued after a long gulp, finding herself more parched with each passing second. “But I do, admittedly, have other concerns.”

“Just _fine_?” he probed, privately bracing himself for the big question after his blood pressure peaked at the word “concerns.” He immediately steadied his breathing to fight the urge to run—he had no reason to believe she’d known much of anything, and if she did, she was better suited for his job than he was.  Still, he made a quick note of his surroundings— _just in case_ —as he raised the bottle to his mouth.

“I want to know what part you played in the uprising on the Nexus.”

 _Is that all?_ he thought, nearly choking on his beer.  He’d worried himself over nothing, and his chest filled with relief, putting his heart rate back within normal parameters.

“I had _nothing_ to do with that shit show.” His words came out in a half-laugh, and while he hadn’t particularly meant it to be reassuring, it fell flat regardless.  He watched as Sara’s eyes narrowed, likely in disbelief, but there really was nothing to justify. _There really is a first time for everything,_ he smiled inwardly.

“So why leave?”  Her question was a simple one, but she knew the answer would probably be complex, unpleasant at best. But she wanted to know—had to, if she was ever going to start trusting him.  He could lie—she was well aware—but she’d had faith in her ability to feel people out.  She’d built a crew from fumes, filled with others who’d left the Nexus for their own reasons, like Peebee and Drack no less.  If he tried to lie, she hoped she would, in some way, notice.

“The way _Tann_ handled things didn’t exactly inspire confidence,” he answered, thinking back to her assumptions about the Charlatan and loyalty, but he considered himself a league or two above Jarun Tann, at least. He could just hear the salarian’s voice, whining and passing off blame instead of actually leading—but he supposed that’s what happened when you were eighth in line for the throne after Jien Garson and _totally_ unprepared. “Decided I could do better on my own.”

“And are you?”

“I guess we’ll see,” he said from behind the bottle followed by another long swallow.

Sara mulled his response over for a second, and she assumed it was genuine enough. She even agreed with him—the Nexus leadership, especially before and during the uprising, had left a whole lot to be desired. There hadn’t been much to work with—she’d taken time to talk to as many survivors as she could on the Nexus—but the whole mess could’ve been handled better and with more care. The Exiles were real people, and the Initiative threw them away without a second thought, knowing that they’d all likely die.  It was amazing that so many had survived this long.

“He wouldn’t be my choice _either_ , you know,” she looked up at him, a flash of defiance glinting in her eyes.

“Oh, this ought to be good,” he asserted with a gruff chuckle as he drug himself down next to her, pocketing his discarded glove.

“Seriously,” Sara grumbled, waiting for him to get settled. “The thing about Tann is that he’s always looking out for the Initiative, but what he fails to realize is that the Initiative can’t exist without the people that make it work.”  She watches Reyes nod in agreement, his brow rising a few degrees north.  “I was raised to be a law abiding citizen, but…”

“But?” he urged her on, anxious to see what someone, as textbook definition “good” as the Pathfinder was, had to say about breaking the law.

“But I’d rather do what’s _right_ instead of what’s best for the Initiative—and Tann is either too blind or in too deep to tell the difference. Life— _our_ _lives_ in Andromeda aren’t as cut and dry as Initiative protocol.”

There it was. He had the oddest sensation, like she’d somehow dug into his head, gift wrapped his words, and handed them right back to him, like she’d heard him tell countless people five years ago—a _decade_ ago—that if governments didn’t protect their citizens from extortion or exploitation, there was no room for them. He’d had enough of watching people die needlessly, as casualties of crooked politics or ignorance or plain stupidity, even before boarding the Nexus—and he was surely done with that life now.  Not that she’d ever hear him say it.

“You better be careful with a mouth like that,” he rebuked her, just short of serious. “People might figure out that you can think for yourself.”  And that was dangerous business for the figurehead of an organization like the Initiative, whose “real” administrators—with few exceptions—wouldn’t agree with her.

“Shh. Don’t tell anyone,” she smirked, smoothing her hair from her eyes.  

He raised his beer as if to toast the idea, the seal on their secret, and continued to sip at his drink. Talking about the Initiative made him tired, though hers was a peculiar angle to take with where she fell in their grand plan. He couldn’t blame her either—she’d been nominated for a position that she probably didn’t want to take orders from people she clearly didn’t like. In her shoes, he couldn’t help but think he’d feel the same.

As the minutes passed, they enjoyed their drinks quietly sitting next to each other.  Sara finished the last of hers, careful to place the bottle down next to her without dropping it over the rock ledge. She drank quickly, he thought—almost too quickly for him to think of what to do next—his immediate instinct led him to default into what had worked well so far: flattery. And she’d given him _plenty_ to work with.

“So,” he started after rising to her silent challenge, emptying the rest of his beer. “Do you have any other talents you’d like to mercilessly flaunt to keep us peasants groveling at your feet?” Her laughter pealed down the cliff and into the ravine below, and it made him feel lighter, more confident.  “You’re hard to compete with, Ryder.”

“ _Hey_ , I put my pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else,” she managed as her laughter cooled.  “And I think you’re doing okay for yourself.”

“Come on,” he nudged a bit more, the words emerging in a low, provocative roll, ignoring her masked compliment.  “I know there’s more going on in there than you’re giving me credit for.”

She eyed him for a moment, considering him carefully. When he offered affirmation as a result of handling the Roekkar, she hadn’t been sure whether he was just being nice—a way to ease the tension—or if he’d actually meant it.  And when he’d admired the nomad, he was more wrapped up in the vehicle itself than the hand she’d had in improving it: in the moment, it felt as though they could’ve been one and the same, but she couldn’t be sure.

This new outburst of recognition did feel nice, if she had to admit it.  On the Tempest, her skills weren’t unique or great by any stretch of the imagination, and even next to Scott she’d almost assuredly take second place—if that—in most categories. There wasn’t much else she could think of that anyone in Andromeda would find special.

But back on the Citadel?  That was another story in a book she’d tried to permanently close.  Stories about life in the Milky Way had been strictly off-limits—they were too painful and too easy to use as ammunition against her, even the little ones. The short jokes were just one instance—Alec and Scott, both giants next to her, used her height as a way to justify her shortcomings, almost from day one, and _stupidly_ , they still hurt. She’d gotten so in the practice of hoarding things away about her past, out of emotional self-preservation, that she was close to terrified of it.    

There was one thing, though, that she could think of—a phoenix that rose from the ashes of an otherwise miserable and difficult childhood. It had been a saving grace, at one time.

“Well, I do know my way around a kitchen _pretty_ well,” she offered as a start, hoping he wouldn’t pry too much. She didn’t know what she’d do if he did.

“You? _Domestic_?” His eyes scrutinized her, all the gold streaked olive of his irises flashed boldly with skepticism. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” she shot back, desperately trying to bury her nerves under as much charisma as she could quickly gather. “I mastered every single recipe in the only cookbook we owned.  Some fancier things, too, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m almost scared to ask.”

“Oh, the usual stuff 12-year-old boys eat—all of these homemade recipes for junk food and this one _amazing_ chocolate chip cookie pie.” Sara eased back into the memories, letting the feeling wash over her: she could almost smell the bacon for Scott’s breakfast, hear it sizzle and pop on the griddle. “It suited my little brother _and_ my dad just fine.”

Reyes chuckles softly at the thought of her taking short orders in the kitchen from the Ryder men.  He didn’t have much to go on with the brother, but her father was famously a piece of work. _Family dinners must have been tense_ , he thought—and he imagined plates upon plates cutting through the air, smashing against the wall for any number of reasons.

“Your mom must’ve been a good cook, too,” he asserted unthinkingly, quite amused by his daydream, his tone gentle and laced with a hint of whimsy.

“She was. When she could.”

Immediately, he took note of the past tense, the nostalgia that lined her voice in the utterance of it, and his stomach sank. _Her mom is dead, you idiot_ , he reproached himself lightly. He recalled clearly coming by that essential piece of information somewhere, and he chided himself for not remembering sooner.  
  
“I had to learn out of necessity. Mom’s research with biotics was in high demand, & she kept long hours.” Sara continued, Reyes thought, to keep the silence to a minimum, to justify the emotion in her voice, to rationalize it, maybe. “We’d see her, but you almost had to make an appointment.”

“And your dad?” 

His eyes darted across her face, watching the nostalgia and melancholy that flickered just under the surface flare into something more indignant—and he swore that he could almost see cracks fan out across her skin, giving view to the hellfire underneath. If he was ever in need of anything to use against her, he knew he need not look further.

“Don't get me started,” she almost growled, but he had the distinct feeling that his prior question was all the push she needed. “He was _never_ around _, always off god-knows-where_ , & we were lucky if we saw him for major family milestones, let alone for dinner.”

The anger had managed to run away with itself, and when she realized it, she’d already spouted off about her father. Reyes gave no indication of surprise—he’d offered her the same half-apologetic smile everyone used to give her.  But where it had neglected to provide her any comfort in the Milky Way, it wore better on Reyes.  Maybe because he was so easy to talk to.

“When Mom got sick, I basically ran the house,” she added after a small cough.

“You couldn't have been that old,” he guessed as his eyes continued to search her, perhaps realizing for the first time how young she looked: twenty, maybe twenty-five at most. For all of her maturity, in the way she carried herself and how managed to handle him so far, Reyes could see the pieces of youth she’d managed to salvage hanging about her, openly now, with all the grace and posture of an abandoned doll left with nothing but a promise of return. He wasn’t the only one hiding something, it seemed. 

“Sixteen, at the worst of it,” she sighed a weary breath, one that Reyes watched, mystified as it aged her. She transformed in front of him, reminding him of a lightning bug suddenly caught in a jar, losing the fight to escape. “Scott was in every military training program Dad could cram him into with one eye always fixed on the opposite side of space, toward the mass relay. So, it was up to me to make sure we had groceries, that he ate enough to survive training, had clean clothes, that his homework was done, that the house was up to Alliance standard regulations,” she paused for a breath and her voice remerged, no louder than a whisper, “that Mom got her medicine, cleaned her up if she wasn't well…and go to school, be a teenager.”

Reyes watched her reliving the memories as she spoke, her lips trembling more with each word. They hurt and badly, he sensed, translating it from the curves of her deepening frown, despite the age of the wound. He thought she handled her past as if the memories had a thick layer of dust on them, exhumed now for the first time, and she was sadly surprised at what she’d found. When she hesitated, the thought of her mother hitched to her voice, he’d wondered if she meant to reveal such intimate information now and _to him,_ of all people—the struggle written in the lines of her face rendered the reading of it unclear. If that was the case, he considered himself flattered.  
  
But there was danger in it, too, he realized. He knew he would never be able to forget the details and disassociate them from her. The woman before him was about to become a garbage fire of emotions—from one man’s carelessness and neglect, from her own duty and obligation—and damned if they didn’t make _him_ feel something: bad for asking, mostly, because of how inconsolable she looked—she drew in a ragged, slow breath as the realization took him—and it stirred something inside him, too.

“I had help at first, but—but…” she trailed off as her eyes welled, hot with tears. Her parents & Scott were one thing—she could dredge these early memories up if needed, but she was about to go too far, into territory that was vastly uncharted. And that scared her more than the Kett ever could.

She shot her eyes upward to stop the tears, miserably failing at forcing it all back down inside while the urge to cry mingled with regret. For better or worse, a few of her scars were showing now—and Reyes could see them. All that was left in her control to do, she decided, would be to save face as best she could later, even if the odds were poor.  
  
As he watched her try to swallow the tears, shifting herself in awkward awareness of his lingering gaze, and what stirred inside him began to burn. Reyes had decidedly hated a lot of things in life, he thought, but the sight of Sara in tears was perhaps newly minted at the top of his list. His gut wrenched at the sight of her & his entire body screamed at him to do something to take it all away, to make her feel better, though his options seemed few. She was good, he thought, _too_ good to be reduced to this.

He cleared his throat softly, trying to catch her before the onslaught of tears.  A pair of them snaked glistening trails down her cheeks, regardless, but she hastily wiped them away.  
  
“You're a woman of many talents, Ryder. Keeping you around is _definitely_ going to make me look bad.” He talked to her gently, softly, but watched as she giggled at the last bit especially, even with a few stubborn tears left in her eyes. “How can I go on?”

“It's not a competition,” she sniffled, the light coming back to her cheeks. “But probably just as shamelessly as before.”

Sara was glad of his attempt at levity.  It distracted her from the hollowed space where those memories had lived, a hole deep inside her chest that still smoldered, somehow. And in the distraction she was able to slip from its hold and return to the present, just the two of them.  She appreciated that he didn’t try to comfort her or judge her—he listened and let it go. That was the best she could hope for in these circumstances.

With a sigh of relief, Sara moved to lean back, using her arms to support the weight from her shoulders.  As soon as she shifted, leaning back onto her hands, her injured arm radiated pain. Sara let out a small yelp before nearly jumping forward, careful not to move her arm any further. When her eyes clamped shut in response to the electric shock diffusing through her muscles, Reyes saw his golden opportunity.

“This is exactly what I'm talking about,” he started, nodding toward her arm. “You probably have a bruise the size of the Nexus under there, and it's just another day in paradise for you, isn't it?”

“I think you know that's not true,” she said, her cheeks blossoming into a delicate pink, a mix of humiliation and flirtation. “Besides, it’s just a little sore.”

“Then let's see it.” He smiled, waiting for the appropriate response. A little challenge to test the boundaries in the opposite direction.   
  
“What?”  
  
“Let me see it.” His tone was more insistent but held less demand, providing more of a polite push than a dare. “Go on. I don't bite.”

She looked him over quickly, trying to discern if he was serious, as if she _had_ expected him to bite. Just the same, she strapped a smile on that intersected a sense of disbelief and embarrassment, as her hand rose to the zipper resting mid-neck at the apex of her collar. Her pulse pounded against her ribs as she pulled the zipper in a long tug, not unlike ripping off a bandage, all the way down to her navel.

In an instant she remembered haphazardly pulling on her armor that morning in the center of a daze, not bothering—or at best, not remembering—to put on anything other than her pajamas, and the hem of her beloved black tank top hugged the curve of her natural waist, revealing a valley of skin below. She swallowed heavily, feeling entirely and totally naked for a split second—Sara didn’t wear underclothes to sleep, which meant she wasn’t wearing them now. Her stomach lurched, hoping he wouldn’t notice as she began to peel her sleeve down and off her shoulder in pained gasps before pulling it off at the wrist.

As soon as the swollen flesh was exposed, it was clear to see that Reyes was right. The bruise was an angry mix of plum and midnight, almost double the size of her fist. She wondered at it, rotating her arm gingerly from side to side to get a full view, moaning lightly against the pointed ache of stretching the injured muscle. 

Reyes frowned at the bruise thoughtfully, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of it—he’d expected it to look nasty, sure, but the colossal purpling stain made her skin appear translucent in comparison. He wondered if she’d broken some major blood vessel or if the bullet just managed to bludgeon her arm that badly: either way, the thought sent his fingers directly to his omni-tool, pressing in a practiced combination into the keypad before catching the gel it dispensed on the pad of his ungloved index finger. He took her arm in his hand, steadying it between his fingers before dabbing the breadth of the medi-gel into the center of the bruise. 

The coolness of the gel caused Sara to gasp, but it was the contact of his finger against the bruise that sent her nearly out of her skin. She braced herself against the biting pain that even the most feather-light tracing shot through her arm, but she watched intently as Reyes concentrated all of his efforts on the task—his finger gently moved in the most agile, faint little circles, ensuring that the entire bruise and then some were covered. The more time he spent spreading out the medi-gel, the less she noticed the pain.

“That’s a waste of medi-gel,” Sara tried to tell him, his eyes still focused solely on the task at hand. “If my stupid arm is the reason someone dies, I won’t forgive myself.”

“Don’t worry, I’m _always_ prepared.” He blew her off without much effort, trying to sound casual as he took her in, his eyes attracted to the soft lines of her shirt before tearing them away. Now was certainly not the time. “The nomad wouldn’t happen to have a first aid kit, would it?”  
  
“It would.” She watched him with even more curiosity as he pushed himself up and instinctively walked over to the nomad, pulling open the passenger’s side door to investigate the glove box.  “That’s where we keep the uh, road trip games.  The first aid kit is in the trunk.”

Reyes thought he should be surprised at how silly the thought was of reserving the glove box for something so juvenile, but having met at least some of her crew—some more close up than others—he figured that it suited them rather well.  A flash of jealousy gripped him tightly for a moment before releasing him again—everything he did was through people, not with them.

After rifling through the back end of the cabin, sorting through a small stack of equipment and the recovered transponder, he found the first aid kit.  It was a bit bigger than he expected, more of a trunk than a kit, but he found the object of his search quickly nonetheless: a compression bandage.

“Ah ha,” he whispered, holding it up for a second before returning to her side, lowering himself down again next to her.  He took up her arm again very lightly, wrapping the bandage around the swollen flesh with great care, his eyes glued to her arm once again. “Feel better?”

With those words, he finally glanced upward, inhaling to explain the details of why the medi-gel worked in this case.  As he prepared to detail its more nuanced uses as a topical analgesic, her look of curiosity had gone, replaced with an intensified version of the one she’d offered him in the roekkar facility.  And suddenly, his mouth refused to make sound.

Sara was bathed in gold, backlit by the sun sinking second by second into the horizon. It lit up her silhouette, shining through the cool ivory of her hair as if to grant her a halo of fire. He swallowed hard when he met her gaze—it was pleasant, appreciative even, but _preoccupied_. Called onward by her captivation, he dared to look deeper, rising up a few centimeters to lean forward and peer into them. As he idly remained, vaguely recognizing the sensation of feeling lost, something like a red hot ember smoldered in those twin depths, causing him to wonder if the abyss had stared back.

“Reyes?” The sound of his name coming from her lips makes his bones go soft for a second as the shift inside her eyes startled him. “ _Reyes.”_

  
_“_ Mmm?” He willed his lips to move but sound only muffled through them.  
  
“You can let go now.”  
  
His eyes darted back down to her arm, still cradled in his hands like a wounded bird he felt increasingly likely to crush. His senses returned to him as if he was being born again: the weight of her arm in his hand, the silken softness of her skin against his fingers. He was _touching_ her, he thought, and his cheeks blazed red all the way up to his ears, dropping her arm in an instant as if he’d been holding metal fresh from the fire.

Sara erupted in a giggle, the only response she had for such an innocent reaction. He returned her laughter with a grin before rubbing the back of his neck, perhaps acknowledging that a door of his own had been opened—she couldn’t imagine him showing this side of himself to too many people, or that his work as a smuggler would often call for it.  But here he was, patching her up without being patronizing or even sympathetic. He _wanted_ to help.

 _He cares_ , she thought to herself, about people in general and maybe even about her, too, if it was possible. He remembered her arm & had enough decency to help, even though she hadn't asked. She was convinced that these were the things, even on a small scale like this, that made men good—doing what had to be done to keep Kadara safe, helping the people who couldn’t help themselves.  


_Reyes Vidal is a good man_. 

The thought filled her with such warmth that everything else seemed to fade away for a second, leaving behind only the man in front of her.  And she sighed happily, her gaze softening into something half-lidded and more languid, like a dream.

“Pathfinder,” SAM interrupted, and both Sara and Reyes perked up in surprise. “Kallo is inquiring into your desired time for retrieval.”

“Put him through, SAM,” Sara drawled, parts of her still apparently stuck in her daydream. She held up a single index finger, signaling to Reyes that she needed a moment, and when she didn’t move to get up, he nodded.

“Kallo,” she greeted him warmly as the comm clicked, letting her know he was there. “What’s up?”

“Ryder. The rest of the crew & I, uh, we were wondering—”

“Spit it out,” she grinned furiously, looking Reyes in the eye as he fumbled next to her, seemingly unsure of what to do with his hands. “You’re hungry.”

“We didn't want to eat without you,” the salarian confirmed, the relief in his voice crystal clear as day.

“I get the hint. Have everyone send in their requests based on our current inventory, & come get me. Ryder out.”

The comm filled with a jumbled mess of voices shouting the names of food items as she closed the channel, and Reyes sat quietly in awe, once again. He hadn’t been wrong in saying she was a talented woman, but he realized she was also a well-liked one, too.  Her crew valued her, despite their odd way of showing it, and he felt like he’d been missing something. 

But what? He had no desire to tote a crew around—his work was made for one person, went smoother with less people to worry about.  He didn’t want her crew either, knowing he’d have airlocked half of them by now.  Her, though—he could get used to being around her.

“A pathfinder’s work is never done,” she smiled at him, feeling brave enough to attempt baiting him back into praising her.  “And it’s my night to cook, I guess.”

“What’s on the menu?” he asked as he hid his restlessness and steadied his hands on the rocks beneath them. 

“Whatever they want that sounds good,” she sighed breathily as she stretched her arms out above her, lacing her fingers together, and she groaned lightly as her bruised arm didn’t hurt exactly, but ached in the way that felt good. “But me?  I’m having a giant sugar coma of a cake. I think I deserve a cake.”

“You do,” he agreed, thinking perhaps she deserved more and a lot better than that, too. Something about her drove him stir crazy, but how or why he couldn’t tell. She made him want to run away as fast as he could, but everything about her bade him to stay. She sang to him and at the same time, cursed him.  All he could do was sit still when his body pushed him toward everything.

A few minutes passed between them in another loaded, but content silence, until the Tempest descended from the sky, landing at the base of the Plateau. As it sat there, waiting for her, Sara fought one last desire to make the moment last, knowing that the crew would come looking for her if she didn’t hurry. 

“Guess that’s my cue,” she said, gesturing toward the ship.  It was bad luck to keep a hungry crew waiting, and the longer they sat together, the more gossip she knew would circulate through their ranks later. “Thank you for patching me up—and the fireworks? They were a nice touch.”

“Consider them a gift,” his voice resonated silvery smoothness, sending a tiny ripple down her spine. _Gifts can be indebting_ , she thought, and she wondered what she’d owe for this one—she assumed nothing from Reyes came for free, even if he was a good person deep down.  _We all have our limits_.

“Will you be okay here alone, or do you need—”

“I may be talentless next to you,” he began, rife with sarcasm, “but I can at least manage getting back to the port.” She elicited a little, wicked smile from his lips when she looked at him nonplussed—a look that was more attractive on her than most. “I'll be fine. _Go_ , before they think I've kidnapped you.”

He stood first, jetting upward and brushing himself off before offering her his hand to help her. She reached for his hand with the same degree of reluctance that she employed with her zipper, but when she grasped it, her hand finally enveloped in his, he pulled her to her feet with an overabundance of strength, as though she weighed practically nothing.  And the thought of his arms, his innate power, followed her all the way back to the nomad. 

As she approached the front of the vehicle, about to cross around to the driver’s side, he caught her attention, his impulses finally getting the better of him. “Hey, Ryder?”

“Yes?” She glanced back over her shoulder, stopping just long enough to let the words leave his mouth.

“Don’t be a stranger.”

She continued on, climbing into the Nomad with no more response than a smile—her answer to his wink back in Kralla’s Song. In truth, she couldn’t bring herself to do more, the embarrassment still clinging to her—but after she took care to spend a few extra seconds buckling herself in, the picture of safety, she glanced up to see him still standing there. She waved before driving off, her fingers curling over her palm, and he mimicked her movements with significantly less gusto, slow and soft. 

As the taillights pushed over the side of the plateau, Reyes took the opportunity to get his thoughts in a message, setting the auto-timer for later on in the evening—something for her to ponder over before falling asleep. The thought tickled him, being the last thing on her mind before settling in for a long night, and it held while he set to arranging his own pick up.

He waited then, watching the Tempest finally break through the atmosphere in its return to the expanse of space before looking out into the twilight, the fleeting indigo of neither night nor day, and felt himself somewhere in between, too.  Between the darkness and the light, between dreams and reality. And as the first stars dotted the sky, he found himself thinking more of the ones he’d seen in her eyes, the ones he put there.


End file.
